


Sanctuary

by Nomme_de_Plume



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomme_de_Plume/pseuds/Nomme_de_Plume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a dark night a girl begs for shelter far from home, and nothing is ever the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another story featuring my favorite trio, Robb, Mya and Theon. Only this one looks at what would happen in an old West setting. Crackships apply.

The poor beast’s hooves pounded into the wet, rocky soil as bare branches lashed the girl clinging to its back. Mya had been running for days, and both she and the horse were on their last leg. Lightning flashed overhead, striking close enough to make them both cry out in fear. The horse, some nameless stolen swayback, shied to the left and Mya had to fight to keep them from tumbling into a small, steep ravine. The stream running through it was swollen, frothing with run-off and in a flash of lightning, Mya saw a bloated animal carcass float by. It made her stomach turn. “C’mon, sweetheart,” she muttered through frozen lips. “Just a little further.”

She didn’t know if that was true or not - she had no destination in mind. Just as long as it was far away from Lysa Arryn and that thin, stained mattress that used to define Mya. _Used to,_ she thought as she swiped a way a dripping lock of black hair away from her face. _Used to._

Mya Stone was a prostitute. She hadn’t wanted to be, but when she was twelve one of her mother’s gentleman callers had set his eyes on her. There’d been a quiet exchange of money, and when he was done it would be a week before the bruises would fade, and even at that age she knew her prospects were ruined. The only men who would have her now would pay for the privilege, whisper promises of love in her ear while they worked between her thighs. The next time they saw her, though, they’d cross the street to avoid her, keep their pretty proper ladies away from her. She hated every minute of her life in the Vale, every whiskey-soaked night in that saloon her mother sold her to, but that was all behind her. She may be penniless, soaked, wearing boozey clothes that weren’t her own, and her only companion a wheezy old gelding, but she was her own woman. No one would own her again.

No more than fifty yards ahead of her a massive old spruce exploded in a blinding flash of light and sound. She flung her arm in front of her face as her horse reared, and she went flying. “No- NO!”

It was no use. She landed heavily against a large, flat rock, and she felt the crack in her arm more than she heard it. Agony rippled through from her fingers to her shoulder, and for a moment her vision went hazy around the edges. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could barely see straight. All that existed was a sharp, sickening pain, her own blood pounding in her ears. She rose to her knees, forcing the dizziness to the back of her mind as best as she could. She just had to find shelter - something. _Anything._ Without it, now, she could die.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she looked around. Her horse was maybe thirty feet down the road, snorting and blowing uneasily. “Whoa….easy there...c’mon now, it’s nothing to be afraid of…” She tried to kept her voice quiet and soothing, her movements as smooth as she could. After several minutes she was able to creep closer and what she saw made her groan again. “No…”

Her horse was lame. The reins had tangled around a foreleg, and the horse was limping badly.

“Shhh, there’s a good boy, shhhh.” She crooned to the horse, stroking his wet neck. The animal flinched and snorted. “I know, I know. We’ll find somewhere to bunk up. A cave or something…” She looked around but in the dark it was hard to see. “And we’re both hurt.”

The horse whickered as she ran her thin hand down his leg. He flinched again and Mya sighed. His leg was warm and obviously tender, but she couldn't tell if it was broken or not. Regardless, there would be no more riding tonight. Worst case she’d have to put him down. With no gun, a broken arm, and a dull Bowie knife she’d lifted from a john, that prospect made her gorge rise. She leaned her forehead against the horse’s neck. “I won’t leave you to the wolves. Not yet. Let’s see how far we can get, alright?”

She drew her longcoat around herself and rolled the sleeves up. It wasn’t _her_ coat per se - she’d lifted it, along with the rest of her clothes, off her johns while they lay drunk in her bed. She was a tall girl at eighteen, but slender. Skinny, Lysa Arryn had always said with her nose in the air. It had been hard for her to find men’s clothes that she could fill out but with a little ingenuity and a few belts, it mostly worked. The hardest part, though, had been the boots. Tall though she may be, her feet were still narrow, too narrow for a man’s boots so she’d worn her own and hoped whoever she ran into didn’t look too close. She hadn’t wanted to enjoy stealing these grimy clothes, and certainly didn’t enjoy the way they smelled, but taking them gave her a small thrill, a little sense of control.

Wringing out her messy dark braid she wrapped the reins around her hand and led her horse, limping, down the road. Her nerves were singing, her arm throbbing, and every grumble of thunder sounded like a mountain lion preparing to leap on her or her horse and tear them to pieces. She gripped the reins tightly with one hand, glancing down from time to make sure her dull knife was still at her hip. She didn’t know how to fight, and doubted she could kill a mountain lion. She glanced up as lightning forked over head, but all she could see was rain lashing down, still-bare tree branches torn in the wind.

Mya and her horse slogged through the mud and driving rain for what felt like hours and then she saw it: a soft, flickering petal of light - a lantern. _A house. A barn, an outhouse,_ something. Her heart soared, and she had to force herself to keep her pace slow. As she got closer several buildings came into view - a large house, several of the windows ablaze with lanternlight. Some outbuildings and- _a barn._ She looked around - this was a large ranch, and she expected there would be some ranch hands or _someone_ out, but apparently this raw night was enough to send everyone running for cover. She tugged the battered gambler she wore further down on her head and urged her horse for the barn.

The muddy, rutted road forked off to the right, and Mya followed the path to the barn. Rain dripped off the eaves, and a few old bales of hay sat on either side of the wide door. Saying a silent prayer to whoever was listening, Mya gave the door a sturdy tug. After some initial hesitation it squealed open, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her horse needed no leading now. He seemed as eager to get out of the rain as she was.

It was blessedly warm inside, the rain muffled, and Mya leaned against the door as soon as she’d pulled it shut. Most of the stalls were full, and several had nameplates on the doors. She heard the occasional whicker or swish of a tail, but for the most part the barn was peaceful. A few pairs of curious dark eyes peered out of the stalls, taking in this strange horse and his human. Patting her horse’s neck, she looked around. Everything seemed to be in its place, no drafts, the building sturdy. All she needed was shelter for the night, and some feed and water for her horse. If he was still lame in the morning...she’d have to leave him. The other animals in this barn were well-cared for. That much was clear. As for what she’d do, she had no idea. There had to be a country doctor around here, and she did have at least one talent she could trade. Mya closed her eyes, her stomach turning at the thought. That’s exactly what she was running away from.

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she turned her attention to her old gelding, trying to unfasten the saddle. It proved to be impossible - she couldn’t bear to let go of her arm long enough to work the buckle and after several minutes she straightened, sighing. Leading the horse in, she rubbed his velvety muzzle. “I’m sorry, boy. I know it’s uncomfortable, but I can’t get it off you. But you stay here tonight, alright? You’ve been real good to me, but you sleep now.”

Mya slid the stall door shut while the horse stared dolefully at her. She slid to the floor, her body aching and broken, her head spinning. Resting her head against the stall door, she shut her eyes. Just five minutes. Five minutes and she’d be able to figure out where she went from here.

She jerked awake and for a moment she couldn’t figure out why. Then, voices. The barn door creaking open. Lantern light, two men, and the footsteps of two horses.

“-these days, Stark, I gotta teach you the meaning of the word ‘poker face’.”

“That’s two words, Greyj-...hold up, what _is_ that? Who’d you put in Lightning’s stall? And what’s in front of it?” The sound of footsteps stopped, and there was a pause a bit too long for comfort. When they spoke again, the voice was lower, the playfulness replaced by a sharp edge.

“That’s not one of your horses, Stark. I reckon it belongs to the son of a bitch sleepin’ on the ground there.”

Mya scrambled awkwardly to her feet as the two men approached, blinking owlishly in the orange glow of their lantern. She backed away from them, her footsteps uneven. They both wore long leather coats, not unlike hers, well-fitting pants. The shorter one had a pocketwatch on a chain in his vest pocket, and he fingered it out of nervous habit. Both men looked strong, well-built. For one crazy moment she thought she could push past them and run, but the same instant that thought entered her head the taller of the two men pulled a sleek silver six-shooter and aimed it at her chest. “Stop right there.”

“Please.” She managed. The shorter man blinked, clearly surprised that she was a woman. “I don’t have any weapons. I just…”

The taller man strode towards her, the gun never leaving his hand. He was taller than she expected up close, his own coat wet with rain. His eyes were flint grey and sharp as he glared down at her, cold and full of suspicion. Without a word he yanked her coat open and pulled her knife from her hip, tossing it aside. It landed with a clatter that seemed too loud in this space. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but tense as steel. “Liar.”

“No, I-” Mya’s teeth were chattering now, and she couldn’t hold his gaze. “I forgot I had that, is all.”

The tall man’s gaze never left her, but he spoke now to his companion. “Better go fetch the Sherriff, Robb. Breakin’ and entering’s a crime last I heard.”

The other man approached now and gave his friend a weary, slightly disdainful look. “Put your gun away, Theon.” He stepped closer to Mya and lifted his chin slightly. “Who are you?” His hand rested on the butt of his own revolver, but he made no move to pull it.

“Mya…” No. Lysa and Littlefinger would be sending a posse to look for her soon, if they hadn’t already. _And you stole a horse. They’ll hang you. You don’t know these people._ “My...uh...name is Alice Longmire.” It was the first name she could pluck from her mind, and she swallowed hard, willing them to believe it.

The second man, hanging back, pushed his dripping gambler back , revealing a mess of thick auburn curls dark as varnished walnut over a strong, open face. His eyes were the bluest Mya had ever seen, clear as the spring sky. A rough stubble covered his stern jaw. “Please, I’ll be gone in the morning. Or sooner.”

“Why are you here?” He asked. His tone softened and those blue eyes seemed to look straight through her. He looked familiar for some reason, but Mya couldn’t place it and felt a shiver course through her. “Miss Longmire?”

“My horse.” Mya blurted. She pushed damp locks that had slipped from her braid off her forehead. “My horse spooked at some lightning and came up lame. I just needed to get out of the storm. Please, I didn’t take anything but feed and I’ll...I’ll pay you for that.” There were a few coins in the pocket of her stolen coat, and she held them out with a shaking hand. It was no more than five or six coppers. “Here, take it.”

The two men glanced at each other, and the second closed her hand around the coins. His fingers were thin, and his touch was calloused, but warm. “Keep it. And you’re not about to stay in this barn.”

Mya nodded, feeling her heart drop. “I understand. I’ll go but...keep the horse. Take care of him. He’s a good boy.”

The auburn-haired man shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Come up to the house, get a bite to eat and get warm.” He reached out and touched Mya’s arm where she clutched it, and she couldn’t bite back a hiss of pain. His expression changed immediately, his brows drawing together. “You’re hurt.”

“My arm. I got thrown when my horse spooked and I think it’s broken.”

He stood a little straighter and looked to his companion. “Theon, run into to town and get Doc Luwin. Tell him we need him out here fast as he can.”

The taller man, _Theon, his name is Theon_ , glared and shifted his weight. “I don’t recall ever taking orders from you, Robb.”

“While my father’s not here you will.” There was such tension crackling between these two men that Mya half-expected one to haul off and punch the other. “Now do what I say.”

After another long, tense moment Theon jerked his head and strode off down the aisle with a heavy step. She heard him leap astrid a horse and she fought off the urge to peek over her shoulder.

“Don’t mind him,” Robb said. “He’s the least of your problems right now, looks like. Can you walk?” Mya nodded. “C’mon then. The house ain’t far.”

Wrapping a firm arm around her back, he led her out of the barn. Mya couldn’t help but glance at him as they walked. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed as he scanned the dark and he kept his free hand at his hip. They were within an inch of each other’s heights, but Mya felt like Robb was so much bigger than she was. It was probably how ramrod-straight he carried himself. He was a man who had confidence, or at least bravado. She felt safe around him.

The rain had slowed to a cold drizzle, but thunder still rumbled in the valleys surrounding them, and lightning flickered blue-white in the low-hanging clouds. The path to the back of the house was muddy but straight, lined with rocks leading up to the porch steps. As soon as she and Robb set foot on it, there was a small scuffling sound from the far end of the porch, and a wet shaggy beast loped into the circle of light left by the lantern next to the door. Mya instinctively took a step back, nearly stumbling off the porch, her heart in her throat. “What is _that_?”

“This? This is Shaggydog.” Robb smiled easily and ruffled the dog’s ears.

Mya edged away from the dog warily. It seemed more wolf than dog, with long legs and large, pointed ears. Its head came up to her hips, and its coat was thick and black as the night they stood in. Cruel lips twisted back, barring even crueler teeth, but after a minute the animal lowered its head and gave its long tail a wag. Mya looked from it to Robb, raising her eyebrows. “Shaggydog?”

“My little brother named him. He’s four. Not long on imagination.” Robb crouched down next to the dog and scratched his ears. “So long’s you don’t try to hurt Rickon, Shaggy here will leave you alone.” He stood, brushing some dust off his pants. “But that’s not important now. Shaggy, come.” He held the door open, and the black dog trotted inside. “Theon’ll be back soon with the doctor and we’ll get your arm fixed up.” When he pulled the door open a wedge of light and warmth spilled out onto the porch. “Kitchen’s right through here, Miss Longmire. Ma’s probably put the younger kids to bed already and this’ll be quieter than going in the front and waking the other dogs.”

“Please, call me M- Alice.” Mya smiled, but it felt thin. “Miss Longmire makes me sound like a schoolmarm. And I don’t even know your last name, or where I am or anything, really.” As she said the words she realized how true they were. She was hundreds of miles from everything and everyone she’d ever known. _Completely alone…_

...except for this house, and this handsome stranger on the porch who was ushering her inside now. “Stark. I’m Robb Stark, and you’re at Winterfell. One of the biggest ranches in the area.”

Mya looked around the kitchen. It wasn’t big, but it was very neat. Rows of pots and pans were stacked neatly on shelves, and a large fire burned in a fireplace, the flames licking at the underside of a steaming kettle. Tomorrow’s bread had been set out to rise, towels over the top of it, and a few bushels of potatoes, apples, and onions were tucked in a corner. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, and a pepper mill sat on the cast-iron stove. It was a cozy room, Mya decided. Cozy and fragrant and _warm_. Heat poured out of the fireplace and she felt like she’d sunk into a hot bath. Shaggydog lay sprawled in front of the fire, pink tongue lolling.

Before Robb could speak, there was a scuffle outside the kitchen and the door swung open. A scrawny, girl with two tangled dark braids and a sun-browned face burst in, dressed in a long flannel nightgown with a too-big holster around her hips. She had a toy pistol in one hand and paused mid-shot, looking from Mya to Robb and back. Her lips peeled back in a smile, and in a voice louder than Mya thought could come from such a small girl, she bellowed. “MA! Robb brought onea the whores home from town!”

“Arya!” Robb cuffed the girl’s ear while Mya’s heart stopped. _She can’t know just by looking. It’s impossible._ He pulled the toy gun out of the girl’s hand. “You apologize to our guest right now!”

The girl, Arya, looked surprised, and then frowned, sullen, eyeing Mya as if to make her confess.  “Don’t look like nobody that needs apologizin’ to.”

“Arya!”

“I’m just sayin! No proper lady comes to visit this time a’ night.” The girl’s sharp eyes flicked over Mya. “Ain’t even dressed right.  

Robb, his hands on his hips, took a breath and held it for a minute, and then, looking apologetically at Mya, turned back to his little sister. “This here’s an _injured_ proper lady, so you show her some respect or I’ll make you wear a dress for a week.”  

“Not that!” This appeared to cow the girl properly, given the squeal of dismay that followed. In the silence that came after, the girl looked from Mya to her brother one last time, and finally it seemed the battle was won, for after a while of their gazes locked in combat, she looked down and shuffled her bare feet.  “Sorry,” she mumbled.  It didn’t seem entirely honest, but halfway there, at least.

“Worse than the dogs sometimes, I swear…” Robb muttered. “Now you come with me. We’re gonna find Ma and she’ll tan your hide but _good_ if I tell her what you just said.” Robb gripped Arya’s arm and smiled apologetically at Mya as he dragged the girl out. “Sorry, Miss Alice. It’ll just be a minute. Please, sit.”

Mya sank into a kitchen chair and resisted the urge to lay her head down on the scarred table and fall asleep. She could still run, could still disappear into the night and _...no. You’re down a horse, down an arm, and you likely wouldn’t last till morning at this rate._ She rubbed her face with her good hand and slumped a little. Whoever the Starks were, Alice Longmire was at their mercy.

The door swung open and a slender, weary-looking woman entered, followed by Robb. Mya saw the resemblance immediately - they both had the same blue eyes, the same vibrant hair, though hers was in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She wiped her hands on the stained apron she wore around her waist, and gave a short, terse smile. “Robb told me about your troubles - you should’ve just knocked right on the front door, young lady.” Her tone was gently chiding, and Mya tried to remember the last time another woman had spoken so kindly to her. “Let me dish you up some supper.”

“Can I get some too, Ma?” Robb adopted a charming look. “Seeing as how me and Theon missed supper.”

The look his mother gave him was less chiding this time while she dished up a chunky stew from the kettle. “You boys need to spend less time at that saloon. With your father and Jon away, I need you here in case...in case we need something.” She set a bowl and a hunk of cornbread on the table in front of Mya, then gestured to Robb. “Sit down, then.”

The stew in the bowl smelled heavenly and it was all Mya could do to remember her manners as she ate. “Thank you, Mrs. Stark.” She swallowed a hunk of carrot. “I appreciate you takin’ me in on a night like this, least till the doctor comes.”

Mrs. Stark smiled that same tired smile. “It’s nothing. Let me take a look at your arm, see how bad it is.” Mya hesitated. The stew was warming her insides, but the thought of her bones grinding together the way they were made her stomach churn. “I’ll just look, girl. I’ve got three boys of my own and a handful of others that wander around here. I’ve seen a broken bone or two in my day.”

Still swallowing apprehension, Mya gingerly rested her arm on the table. Mrs. Stark rolled up the coat sleeve, as well as the shirtsleeve underneath it, and Mya had to look away. Her arm bent grotesquely between the wrist and elbow, and was already heavily bruised. Mrs. Stark pressed her lips together and sat back in her chair. “Well, Doc Luwin’s seen worse, I’ll tell you that. But I don’t envy you how much that’s going to hurt tomorrow.” She and Robb exchanged a glance, and Mya knew what was coming now. “Alice, dear, forgive me for prying but what exactly was a girl your age doing riding alone on a night like this? And dressed like...well, forgive me, but dressed like a man?”

The cornbread settled heavy in Mya’s stomach and she prayed it would stay there. _These are good people. Decent people._ She forced herself to look them full in the face while she talked “I was in a bad situation.” She felt her eyes pricking. It wasn’t _entirely_ a lie, and one of the tears rolled down her cheek. “I just had to go, and I saw a chance, so I took it.”

Mrs. Stark looked at her, her ageless face hard to read. “Robb, go fetch some more wood off the porch. The pile’s running low in here.”

Robb glanced at the rather healthy-looking stack of wood next to the stone fireplace and opened his mouth, but at his mother’s look he shut it again and went to do as she asked.

Mrs. Stark’s clear blue eyes hadn’t moved from Mya’s face. For a long moment the only sounds were the _pop_ of a knot of pine in the fire, and the distant thumping sound of Robb gathering logs. “Are you pregnant?”

Mya looked down at her lap, pressing her lips together. “I...no. I’m not.” _Not anymore._ “It was just a bad time.”

Mrs. Stark assessed the girl for some time. Then, “I’ll let you stay here till you’re healed up, and then we’ll see where things are.”

Mya forced herself to nod. She hadn’t been looking for a handout but what choice did she have? “Thank you. Soon as I’m able I’ll pay you back.”

The kitchen door swung open and Robb entered, his arms full of logs. “Don’t you worry about payin’ us back tonight.” He said, nudging the door shut with his heel. “Theon’ll be back quick with the doctor.” His brow furrowed. “Assuming the road doesn’t wash out out like it did last spring. Had to go down damn near to Moat Cailin to get around it.”

“Robb.” Mrs. Stark’s voice was quietly reproachful. She reached over and brushed a wet, lank clump of hair off Mya’s forehead. “You’re hardly older than my daughter Sansa, I’d wager. She’s almost sixteen.” The touch was so gentle, so intrinsically maternal that it nearly took Mya’s breath away. The last time her own mother touched her that softly...Mya could hardly stand to remember what followed. Her chest clenched and for a moment that pain overpowered her shattered arm. “Where’s home for you, sweetheart?"

Mya's mind raced towards another lie. "Down at King's Landing...well, it was. I reckon I ain't got one now." The thought, while terrifying, was exhilarating now that she was on the right side of a sturdy set of walls.

"There isn't anyone looking for you? No kin?" Mrs. Stark's gaze was guarded, and Mya shook her head.

_No one I want to see._ “No ma’am.”

Mrs. Stark sighed and stood, brushing her hands on her skirt. “You’re a little shorter than Sansa but her night clothes should fit you well enough. I’m going to go set up a cot in her and Arya’s room. Robb, you wait here with Alice till the doctor comes back.”

“Yes ma’am.” Robb leaned forward in his chair as his mother left the room, thick brows knitted. “How’re you feeling? Theon can’t be much longer, I imagine.”

Mya smiled tiredly. The white hot pain in her arm was starting to fade just the tiniest bit, so long as she didn’t move her fingers. The food and heat from the fire were helping. “I’m sure I’ll live, thanks.”

Robb smiled and traced his index finger over her palm where the skin was red and raw. “Don’t ride much, do ya?”

“How can you tell?”

“Ain’t got callouses.” He held out his own hand. “Here,  between my thumb and first finger. ‘s like leather.”

Mya brushed her finger over where he gestured. The skin was rough, but not the roughest she’d ever felt. _He’d be gentle._ “‘s not that bad.”

Robb sat back for a moment and smiled. The expression made him look young, less like a man and more like a bashful, uncertain boy. He leaned forward again and wrapped his fingers around Mya’s hand. His grip was warm and steady. “Don’t you worry ‘bout my ma. She’ll let you stay here till...well, prob’ly as long as you like. She acts tough but she’ll not turn you out.”

Mya couldn’t help but smile, but before she could say anything the kitchen door swung open and Mrs. Stark re-entered, followed by a tall, willowy girl who could’ve been her double. Her hair flowed loose over her shoulders, but it was the same rich red as Robb’s and his mother’s. She was dressed for bed, and had a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She eyed Mya’s hand in Robb’s and smiled shyly, and Robb jerked his hand away. “Sansa, you’re supposed to be in bed.”

“She’s going to help when the doctor gets here.” Mrs. Stark answered firmly. “Which, unless Theon got lost…”

“He’ll be here any minute.” Robb stood and peered out the window into the dark. “There - they’re coming up the road just now.”   

Doc Luwin was a small, graceful old man with snow-white fringe around the sides and back of his head, and a thick, drooping white mustache. He carried a black leather medical bag in one hand and doffed his dripping hat with the other. “Mrs. Stark, younger Starks…” His grey eyes lit on Mya, and there was so much intelligence there. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This here’s Alice, doc.” Robb took the doctor’s wet coat. “What all’d Theon tell you?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. That boy’s not much for talkin’ when he doesn’t want to.”

“Alice fell from her horse.” Mrs. Stark said. “Broke her arm, looks like.”

The doctor _tsked_ and sat across from Mya, looking at her arm and gently laying his hands upon it. His eyes flicked back to her face when she hissed. “I’ll be as gentle as I can, lass, but this is going to hurt.” He glanced at Mrs. Stark and Sansa. “Sansa, sweetling, there’s a bottle in my bag marked ‘Laudenum’. Fetch it for me, would you?”

“No.” Mya’s stomach was gripped in ice. “Not that, please.” She’d seen too many of her friends at the brothel, her own _mother_ , glassy-eyed and limp from the mix and she’d sworn long ago that it’d never be her.

Those intelligent grey eyes of Doc Luwin now held doubt and a touch of pity. “My dear, I don’t think you realize how much this is going to hurt otherwise.”

“I know.” Mya’s voice was trembling now. “But _please._ ”

The others exchanged glances, but the doctor sighed and nodded. “If you wish. Cat, it’ll be best if we lay her down. The table will suffice.”

Mya stood, clutching her arm while Mrs. Stark and Sansa moved dishes off the wooden table. “C’mon, then.” Robb touched her elbow. “I’ll help you up.”

Her heart pounding, Mya lay on the sturdy old table, biting her lip when the doctor adjusted her arm. “Better give her something to bite on.”

“Here.” Robb’s voice was quiet, and he touched her cheek. “‘s just a leather switch. But bite on it. It’ll help with the worst of it.” He stood at her head while Sansa held her good hand, and Mya grimaced at the grimy taste of leather in her mouth.

Mya felt the first twist deep in her gut instead of her arm, a dull, solid punch. The second one ground her bones together, straightening them and pressing their broken ends together, brought a searing white-hot agony. All she could hear was a high-pitched white whine. The air rushed out of her chest in a scream that sounded like far-off bells, and Mya’s vision flashed white before fading to black.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The goddamn rain was blowing in his goddamn face and his hat didn’t do _shit_ and Robb was prob’ly sitting at the goddamn kitchen table right now with a bowl of stew and that bedraggled creature from the barn who didn’t have a half-bad look to her, despite her condition… Theon jammed his dripping Stetson down a little further and shook his head. She was pretty enough, comparable to Ellie, maybe, but nothin’ compared to Ygritte. The thought wasn’t entirely welcome, and he dug his spurs in, racing the rain.

Smiler leaped over one of the fences at the eastern border of the Stark’s land without being asked, bringing Theon back to his present task. He leaned over the horse’s wet neck, urging him on faster despite the storm raging around them; he knew the great bay stallion could take it, knew the horse’s limits as intimately as he knew his own. He’d been the one to break the stallion when he was just a yearling, fierce and headstrong. “Just a little bit longer, there’s a boy,” he told him as he dug his spurs in and took him over a washout in the track, where a seasonal stream pushed over its banks by a wet spring had cut the road in two for at least six feet. It roiled, unknowably deep, and as Smiler landed Theon felt the extra the horse was sinking into the mud. It was slowing them down, making them slip and risking a nasty fall but even as mud flew up and splattered his face he let Smiler find his footing on the rutted road.

"T’morrow’s Sunday...lazy day for you, pal.” There was no work on Sundays, on Cat Stark’s orders. She’d be herding her clan into town for church, but Theon begged off on account of his family’s particular religious practices. In reality, though, he’d use the time to sneak off and meet Ygritte. If he didn’t catch his death of pneumonia out here tonight. Mud and rain flew upwards from Smiler’s hooves as they flew along the track into town, splattering Theon even further than he already was. He swore silently, knowing there'd be no way he could get a bath in tonight. Not with the weather, and not with the injured girl in the kitchen.

The night’d been a bust from the get-go, really, so this was just taking things to their logical conclusions. All of the girls at the saloon had been occupied, or rather all the ones he was interested in, and Robb got too drunk to leave alone, so Theon hadn’t been able to head on down to Ros’s place. The poker game hadn’t been much better, since he’d basically had to play Robb’s hand _and_ his own, reading his friend and playing off him every hand. It’d worked out just about as well as it did when Robb wasn’t pissdrunk; Theon had won plenty, but Robb’s mediocre play took the heat off, and nobody noticed a thing. Only difference was this time, Theon had had to work double for the same measly amount. The poker games in Torrhen’s Square were hardly worth the effort, really, and not at all when he had a belly full of rotgut and double the work.

After asking around, he found Luwin in the exact last place he wanted to go. But Robb, or Catelyn, more like, was liable to pistolwhip him if he came home without a doctor, so he knocked on the door, hat in hand.

“Mister Greyjoy?” Ellie’s older cousin Margie answered the door.  Even at this time of night she looked wide awake, her large brown eyes alert. Her golden-brown hair was down, spilling in loose curls over her shoulders, and she brushed it back impatiently, resting a hand on a slim hip.

“What are you doing here this late?”

He raised an eyebrow, feeling a trickle of rain change course and make its way down the side of his face, hoping to be let in to the foyer space, or at least under the stoop proper, as the rain was cold. She just laughed, and suddenly he could see the exhaustion in her pretty face.  “You’ll have to excuse my manners, but half the kids are sick as dogs and the rest of the family’s not far behind.”

“Ah…” Margie always put Theon back on his heels, and today was no exception. It was something about the way she smiled, crooked and sharp as an arrowhead. Robb had joked once that he and Margie had the same smile, but Theon had never believed him until now. He shifted on the wet porch, left with a feeling of faint unease that he wrote off as icy rain trailing down his back. “That explains it.”

“Explains what, Mister Greyjoy?” Margie’s smile quirked up a little at one corner. “I do hope you weren’t hoping to see Ellie at this late hour…” Her wry expression seemed to suggest just the opposite, though, and for a brief moment Theon was distracted from his task by the thought of what liberties he might be able to take… He shook his head. He was too damn cold, anyway.

“Nah.” He spit off the edge of the porch, dismissing her suggestion. “We got a situation out t’Winterfell that requires Doc’s attention.”

“Oh no, not the same thing we’re fighting here, I hope?”

“No, no, just--” He suddenly realized it might be better not to say that they’d found a strange girl in the barn and shrugged. “Guess it could be, come t’think of it, don’t rightly know. Robb ‘n I’d just got home when Cat said t’ ride for Doc. And here I am.” He spread his arms wide, reminding her that he was standing on the porch in the middle of a downpour.

“Here you are…” The way she looked him up and down was positively lecherous, Theon was sure of it. But after a long moment, she just nodded. “I’ll fetch him for you.”

Old Doc Luwin was a good enough rider, though his old dapple mare had a hell of a time keeping up with Smiler. The rain had mostly petered out by the time they made it back to Winterfell, and Theon took the reins of Luwin’s horse without a word, heading for the stable. Smiler needed a good rubdown after that ride, and the doc’s mare a stall to rest in. And anyway, he didn’t want to be inside when the girl from the barn got her arm reset. He knew from experience that the good doctor was stingy with the laudanum, and he had no interest in hearing a woman scream anything other than his name.

 

* * *

 

The next morning broke fine and clear, the muddy ground the only trace of the storm from the night before. He and Robb had slept rough; the strange girl from the barn had upset the household to a considerable degree. Sansa and Arya had given up their bed to her, and they, in turn, had booted Theon and Robb from their beds. Robb opted for the foot of Bran and Rickon’s bed, but Theon was forced to choose between the kitchen floor in front of the stove or the hayloft in the barn. The hayloft offered better opportunity to slip away in the morning, so he headed out to the barn with a blanket under his arm.

“Greyjoy!”

“Muh?” Theon sat up, hay drifting out of his hair and down between his eyes. Everything was lit up with a fuzzy golden light, and for a moment he couldn’t remember where he was...what the dust filtering through the morning sunbeams was.  But with a creak of old hinges and a thunk of wood, Robb’s head popped up in the trapdoor, dark circles under his eyes, squinting as the sunlight hit him square in the face.  As Theon stared at him, and he stared back,the night before came back slowly.

“Greyjoy. Ma wants you to check on Alice while we’re at church.”  Robb said. He folded his arms on the floorboards and put his chin on them, brushing away some straw from his chin, and waited while Theon forced himself more awake.

“Alice?” The only Alice Theon could think of was the big piebald mare that one of his uncles’ had rode, years back.He stared at Robb dumbly, waiting for further explanation.

“Alice. The girl from last night?” Robb’s tone was fondly exasperated. “The reason you’re sleepin’ out here in the first place?” He gestured with a tired hand.

“Right, right.” Theon laid his head back down on the balled up saddle blanket he’d been using as a pillow, folding his arms behind his head. He wasn’t entirely convinced that was the girl’s name, not with the way she’d hesitated when telling them. But what did he care what her name was? “Yeah, sure. I gotta ride out and check the North pasture, too.” Robb opened his mouth, and Theon held up a hand, forestalling his protest. “I do. Your pa wanted it done _last_ week and we never did get ‘round to it. I’ll camp out there t’night and meet you at the river in the morning. And I’ll check on _Alice_ before I go,” he finished as Robb opened his mouth to cluck at him.

Once the carriage was away, a trail of dust marking its progress towards town, Theon climbed down from the hayloft, stretching his weary limbs. He slept rough more often than not, but still...it was nice to get a night on a mattress, even if it was stuffed with straw. But he wouldn’t begrudge the girl, Alice or whatever her name was... Shaking his head, he made sure his saddle bags were packed with everything he’d need, then climbed the steps of the back porch and headed in to check on her.

Cat had left a stew simmering on the stove, and it was just beginning to fill the kitchen with its scent. There was one carrot left that she’d either forgotten about or hadn’t had time to chop, and he grabbed it as he made his way to the stairs at the back of the house. Smiler could use a treat after the ride last night.

The girls’ room was on the east side of the house, and when he cracked the door, the sunlight flooding damn near blinded him. “Hellfire…” He muttered, shading his eyes with a hand. There was an indistinct murmuring from the bed and he opened the door a bit wider, peering in. How could she still be sleeping in broad daylight? As his eyes adjusted to the sun, he saw how her arm was wrapped to her chest and the pallor of her face beneath ink-black hair, and realized it was probably pain that kept her abed.

“Oi,” he began, then scuffed his feet. Cat would have his head if she knew he were talking to a young lady that way in her house. “Miss. I gotta be out t’the North pasture now, but the family’ll be home from church soon.” The only reply was a muffled sound that could’ve been a snore and he shut the door, satisfied he’d done his duty.

It was hard not to keep his mind from wandering as he rode out to the North pasture. The day was fine and  clear and the sun was burning high in the sky by the time he made it over the river. He’d been leaving signs for Ygritte all week as he and Robb had rode the width and breadth of the Starks’ land, things for her eyes, that only she’d understand...feathers from a red-tailed hawk tied to a fencepost in the northwest, green wood in a campfire, so she’d see the thick smoke. He was sure she’d be there today, though sometimes the timing didn’t work out, and missed each other. When that happened, he was like to spend his entire month’s pay in one of the brothels in town, trying to recreate some small measure of what she had to give him.

The North pasture was a hundred acres of fine grazing land, but he veered straight to the left when he came to it, headed for the thick copse of aspen and larch trees at the western edge. Hot springs dotted the land here, and he knew if she’d seen his signs, she’d be waiting for him there. Cattle dotted the land to his right, and everything looked as it should, as far as he could tell. Not that he was looking closely. He could see a tiny tendril of smoke rising from the copse of trees and he gave Smiler a taste of his spurs, eager to get to his woman.

She was waiting for him at the edge of one of the springs, just undoing the laces of her snug leather leggings. She pushed them over her hips and Theon swallowed, his eyes travelling down the flat, white plane of her stomach, lower and lower. She looked up at him with a bold smile and her fingers slowed down, tantalizingly so. Theon swore by all the named gods that she had some sort of sixth sense and purposely waited until the moment he arrived to begin stripping down. Tying Smiler up to a tree a ways off from her own dappled mount, he tossed his hat at her as he dismounted and began unbuckling his gunbelt.

“How do I look?” She put the hat on, laughing when it slipped down over her brow a little. “Howdy, pardner.” She twirled an imaginary sixshooter and holstered it, her laughter bright and clear in the shady copse of trees and Theon thought maybe he’d never leave this place.

“Howdy yourself, ma’am.” He dropped his gunbelt next to her bow and picked her up, smiling when her legs wrapped around his waist, strong and lean beneath the worn leather. “You look beautiful. Over-dressed, but beautiful.”

“Beautiful.” Ygritte’s fingers were tangled in his hair and she gave it a sharp tug, her eyes dancing. “Don’t try’n sweet talk me, cowboy.” Sliding down off of him, she disentangled herself from his arms and finished undressing herself. He liked to watch her, the act so unlike the ridiculous striptease of the whores in town, but she took his hat off and smacked him across the chest with it. “You too. Hurry up.”

He took longer than her, his chaps requiring unbuckling and all the little buttons on his shirt needing undone. One time she’d ripped them off, but then he’d had to sit and sew them all back on before going home, lest Cat ask questions. They’d fought about it, then made up, but now she refused to touch his clothing at all. Well...mostly.

When he was down to just his cotton trousers, she snagged him by the waistband and pulled him close, kissing him as she undid each individual button with a slow precision that drove him mad. And made him laugh, as he knew she was teasing him about the shirt buttons. She nipped at his lips and pushed the pants down over his narrow hips. He tried to guide one of her hands to his cock, but she pulled away and jumped into the hot spring with a shout.

“Come on!” She splashed him and pushed herself back into the middle of the pool, steam rising up around her, her small breasts just hidden beneath the cloudy blue water.

Theon didn’t jump, but rather eased in with a groan. After a long week of riding and breaking yearlings with nothing but a splash of cold river water on his face, this was luxury beyond belief. Sinking in up to his chin, he closed his eyes for a moment and let his body loosen and float. When he opened them, Ygritte was gone. He knew what was coming, but it still took him by surprise when she wrapped a hand around his ankle and tugged him under the water before darting away.

The pool was only so big, the water bubbling hot out of the ground, but it took him a moment of sightless groping before he caught hold of her hair and pulled her to him as he broke the surface, her back flush with his front. Her body was slick and slim and perfect against him. She wriggled against him, teasing, until he wrapped a solid arm around her waist and held her fast against him. “That’s enough’a that, woman.”

Quick and lithe, she turned in his grasp and wrapped her legs around him again. This time, there was nothing between them and the only thing keeping him from pushing into her was his lack of traction in the middle of the pool. Still holding her close with one arm, he moved them back to the stony edge of the pool and found a small, smooth rock outcropping that would serve nicely. As soon as he set her on it, she pulled him into her, her hips rocking in a steady, driving rhythm. It had been too long, for both of them.

Theon had never thought to find a woman who liked, no, _needed_ , to fuck like him, but Ygritte was certainly a match for him in that regard. Her nails dug into the meat of his shoulder, gripping him hard as they moved together. It had been like this from the very start, this almost desperate coupling.

They’d met...well, ‘met’ wasn’t really the word for it, in truth. They’d come across each other on the far Northern border of Stark land, both of them tracking elk they’d wounded. Theon found hers first, an arrow tipped with white feathers sunk deep into the animal’s shoulder. Sinking to a knee and pulling out his long knife, he slit the beast’s throat in one swift motion, but before he could rise, a second arrow thrummed past his head, embedding itself, quivering, in a tree in front of him.

Rising, he flipped the knife, catching the blood-slick blade with deft fingers and flinging it as he turned. But instead of pegging the wildling man he’d expected right between the eyes, it sailed over the head of the short, slim wildling _woman_ in buckskin leggings and furs, who was pulling another arrow from her quiver.

“That’s _mine_ ,” she snarled, fitting the arrow to the bow and drawing in one smooth movement.

“Alright, darlin’, alright…” He rose to his feet slowly, keeping his hands in the air and well away from his six-shooters. His rifle was slung over his back, no help at all. “‘Course it’s yours, I can see the arrow plain as day. I was just finishin’ him off for ya. Lung shot,” he finished lamely. Anybody with two eyes and half a brain could see it was a lung shot.

“Would’ve been a heart shot,” she replied tartly, “if some fool’s gun hadn’t gone off an’ spooked ‘im.”

She lowered the bow as she spoke, and Theon relaxed a hair. “Pretty sure mine was a heart shot, though. ‘S’the advantage t’usin’ a rifle.”

Now that he wasn’t in imminent danger of being turned into a pincushion, he was able to see that while she was dressed in wildling garb, the woman in front of him was clearly not wildling-born. She had the sort of pale, speckled skin that he knew would burn in the summer, and was near translucent on this cold autumn day, and masses of curly red hair only partially tamed by her intricate braid.

“Think so, do ya?” She jerked her head back in the direction she’d come from, and he had a hard time not staring at the graceful line of her throat. “Go’n have a look.”

As it turned out, he’d hit a lung too, and she’d already dispatched his kill with impressive alacrity. They’d helped each other with field dressing the elk, then found their way to the springs after, ostensibly to wash off.  He'd glanced up at the rustle of clothing, and had been caught off-guard to see the woman wiggling out of her clothes. She had approached him, her body surprisingly well-muscled, and she'd had to stand on her tiptoes when she went to kiss him. That first time, Theon had been shocked to discover that she enjoyed herself just as much as he did, and afterward she curled herself around him and slept as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Theon wasn’t much for sleeping; he just laid there with her under the lean-to she’d built, trying not to move so he could feel her breath rush over his chest, her skin warm against his.

In short order they’d arranged a way of meeting, a series of signals and signs that signified place and time...and Theon realized he was truly lost. Nothing could compare to Ygritte, not even the most expensive whore in town. He craved her like nothing he’d ever known; every time he saw one of her signs, his heart and stomach soared. He expected it to wear off after a few weeks, but the longer it went on the more he was convinced maybe it was meant to be. _And then came Ellie..._

"Where are you?" Ygritte murmured against his neck, dragging Theon back to the present. She pressed her lips against his pulse, her fingers tangling in her hair.

"I'm here." Theon gripped her hips and thrust into her, pulling her against him to hit her most secret places. She gave a soft, hoarse cry, and he grinned sharply as he did it again. "I'm right here."

 

* * *

 

Hours later, the night had wrapped around them, dark and mild, and Theon and Ygritte lay tangled around each other next to the remnants of their campfire. Embers rose into the air, blinking and flashing the way the stars were. They'd fucked for hours, rested, ate, and then fucked again, until she'd collapsed on his chest, spent. He turned his head slightly to inhale the scent rising from her hair, smoke and earth and some spice that was just her, and his fingers drifted up and down her spine. Theon wasn't one to believe in fate, or destiny, or any of that bullshit, but he believed there was a reason they fit together so well.

_We're both outsiders._

Ygritte had been raised by Wildlings, but hadn't been born one. She'd been two or three when her family's small homestead had been massacred, both parents and an older brother slaughtered. One of the raiders had found her crying and cowering under her parents' bed, mere feet from her mother's body, and had dragged the girl to his tribal leader. The leader had, instead of ordering the girl's death, taken her in. He and his wife had raised Ygritte alongside their own children, teaching her how to hunt, and live off the land. When she was twelve they’d told her the story of how she’d come to live with them, and they also taught her how to kill. Her first kill, she'd told Theon, had been the man who had killed her original family. She loved the people who adopted her, but she had to have her vengeance.

Theon couldn't imagine Ygritte as anything but a Wildling woman. She was more at ease in the woods with her bow than anyone he'd ever seen. She was quiet as a deer when she moved through thick underbrush, still as stone when she stood in shadow. He couldn't imagine her in skirts, scrubbing dishes like Sansa or Arya. It just didn't fit. She was wild and free and able to roam wherever she liked, and sometimes it made Theon nearly sick with jealousy.

He was a Greyjoy, and his people were also raiders and marauders, only they stuck to stagecoaches and trains instead of homesteads and farms. They struck fast and vanished into the far Western hills and forests before the law could ever find them, except for one time when Theon was a child. A posse had caught up with his father, brothers, and uncles. They'd hung Rodrik and Maron, his brothers, and his father and uncles had been dragged to jail. For almost a month his mother refused to let him or his older sister Asha out of her sight, clinging to them in the shadows of their old, creaky homestead. For almost a month, there was no word of his father.

One day they came for him: a group of somber, dour-faced men led by Ned Stark. He’d taken Theon’s mother aside and had spoken to her in quiet, hushed tones, glancing at Theon and Asha occasionally. He remembered how his mother had cried out "No! You can't-" before Ned had taken her arm and gently  led her into the parlor. By nightfall Theon was riding double with Ned Stark, his face screwed up against the older man's leather longcoat. All his worldly possessions were jammed into a few bags strapped to Ned's enormous black mount, and when he glanced over his shoulder he saw his home, the only home he'd known, vanishing into the dusky pines.  He knew his mother remained there, could still feel her tears on his cheek as she'd given him one last hug. She'd told him he was going to live somewhere else, that he had to be very brave, and to always remember who he was.

"You're a Greyjoy," she'd whispered. "Remember your father. Remember me."

 "I remember, Ma." Theon didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until Ygritte's steady, deep breathing changed next to him. In an instant, she was fully awake.

"Mmm...Theon?" She was stirring, resting her bony chin on his chest.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" He looped a lock of her red hair around a finger lazily, watching how the firelight seemed to make it glow.

Ygritte shook her head. "Were you thinkin' about her while you were inside me? Your little wifey-to-be?" Ygritte grinned sharply, her teeth white and even. "You ought to bring her with you sometime. 'd love to meet my competition." There was a threat there, plain as day, and it wheedled Theon like a splinter under his fingernail.

"Stop that." Theon sat up abruptly, shoving her off him. He rose to his feet and stalked towards where he'd dumped his saddlebags. There wasn't anything of import in there, but he couldn't stand to see the mocking in her blue-green eyes. After a minute he turned back towards the fire, staring at the flames. Across from him, Ygritte was sitting on her knees, arms crossed across her small breasts. Her expression was hard to read and he hated that too. "You know I don’t want her."

"Aye, y'don’t want her and you're betrothed to her. A fancy arranged marriage made by your dastardly father." Ygritte's tone was lilting and singsong. "Just like in the fairy tales." He glared at her over the flames, and she rose to her feet, padding across the soft earth until she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Come away with me, Theon. Now. Tonight. We can run and run and run and no one will ever find us. Y’wouldn’t have to even think of any of them ever again, and we could be _free_. Like all men were meant to be.” When he didn't respond she went on, her fingers trailing up and down his bare spine. "You 'n I are the same, Theon. Both stolen away from where we rightfully belong. But my folk never dared t'presume they could tell _me_ who to marry, command _me_ who to love. The heart don't work that way. We love who we love, who we're meant to love, and no more."

Theon rested his chin against Ygritte’s wild curls, taking comfort in the feel of her flesh hot against his.  A soft breeze wound through the old pines, whispering softly and pulling at his hair. _We could have this every night. Sleep under the stars every night. Answer to no one but the gods._  For a moment he was tempted, so tempted….At the edge of the clearing Smiler snorted and brought Theon back to reality. Ned Stark had given charge of Smiler to Theon as a newborn foal when Theon was twelve. _Eleven years now. You’ve been with the Starks longer than you were with your own kin._  "He's yours, Theon. You raise him, you see him weaned, you break him. As long as you live with us, he's all yours."

Those words rattled around in Theon's memory. As much as Smiler was his, when it came down to it he was still the Stark's property. _Just like you are._ “I can’t, Ygritte. You know I can’t.”

“You _can_.” Ygritte was looking up at him with those deep blue-grey eyes of hers, fringed by surprisingly dark lashes. She bit her bottom lip, dragging it through her teeth in a way that was at once maddening and arousing, and bumped her hips against his. “I know you can. You're your own man, aren't you?”

"You know I am." Theon sounded like an indignant child, even to himself.

"Then prove it." Ygritte's look hardened. "You're not some dog they have chained to a tree."

“I’ve got…”Theon twisted out of her grasp and crouched next to the fire, poking a stick into it. “I’ve got responsibilities.”

“They shouldn’t be yours to begin with. You didn’t ask for any of it.”

"What's it matter?" Restless, Theon rose to his feet again, pacing. Ygritte was still as a statue, and he couldn't help but stare at the way the light pooled against her collarbone, the pink tips of her breasts. "I...I didn't come here to talk about any of this with you. I just want..." He lifted his hands in a helpless shrug and let them drop. "I just want you."

"Then have me." Ygritte padded across the small clearing and took his hands in her small, rough ones. "I'm yours, Theon. As much as anyone can be someone else's. You're mine. I'll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me."

Something about the way her jaw was clenched made him suddenly concerned for Ellie, the sweet, simple fiancee he just couldn't love. She was a good girl, raised right and well-bred enough to overlook his reputation, especially with the girls at Ros's brothel. If it weren't for negotiations between her father and uncle, and his father and uncles, they never would've given each other a second thought. Hell, none of the Tyrells should even _be_ this far north, but that old bat Olenna wanted to sink her claws into as many pies as she could, and that included setting up general stores and shops in every town on the map. But here they were, forced into a marriage that would ensure his folk never touched another train or coach carrying her folk's goods. Assuming he could talk his lover out of cutting the girl's throat.

"Ygritte, sweetheart..." He lifted her calloused fingers to his lips and kissed the tips. "She's harmless. She's innocent, so you leave her be, y'hear me? She's not the one I love."

Ygritte's lips quirked upwards and she leaned back slightly. "Ain't she?"

"Hush up now." Theon couldn't help but smirk. "You know better."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sunday passed in a grey haze for Mya. Distorted faces slid in and out of view, and occasionally liquid slid down her throat without taste or temperature. Her dreams were a muddled mess, all bitter teas and wetness on her thighs, a hot stuffy room with the barest amount of light filtering in through shuttered windows. The images swirled around her head faster and faster, bleeding together like she had bled, voices screaming like she had screamed, and finally Mya bolted upright, a hoarse cry on her lips.

Her head swam, throbbing, and for a moment the urge to retch was so strong she went to clamp both hands over her mouth. One cooperated; the other- her right- was bound tightly to her chest with linen, bound in plaster, and the way it ached made her eyes well.

Sunlight leaked through the curtains hanging in front of the window over Mya's bed, and she rubbed her face. She'd slept long but felt no more rested than she had these past six nights since she'd left the Vale. _Don't get used to it,_ she warned herself. _Soon as you're able you're heading out again. Don't become even more in debt to these folks._ She pushed herself up, sitting crosslegged. Her thighs burned, stiff and aching, and she pushed her tangled black hair away from her face, wincing at the knots of pain in her back _You've gone from 18 to 90. You're creaky and stiff as an old woman._ She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, pleased to see they’d still hold her, and took a few halting steps towards the window. Mya pushed the curtain open, letting morning sunlight flare through the room.

This room was small, the bed tucked under the eaves of a sloping roof. A battered trunk was pushed up against the foot of the bed, and next to the door was a dresser. The top of it was cluttered with a small vase of flowers, a small pile of needlework, a familiar-looking gunbelt  toy pistols, and a few rocks. A braided rug all but covered the floor of the room, but where it didn’t, Mya saw even slabs of worn, reddish wood. A small easel was propped in one corner, a half-finished watercolor landscape displayed on it.

When Mya looked out the window she couldn’t help but smile. The scene spread out before her was idyllic. The sky was full of puffy white clouds, the grass emerald green. In the distance, craggy blue-grey mountains jutted up, capped with snow on the highest peaks. Between the barn and the house, chickens pecked at the dirt around a coop, their feathers ruffled by a light spring breeze. Nearby, several children were bent over in a large fenced-in garden, plucking weeds from the barely-sprouted plants. One of them looked like the younger girl from the kitchen, the one with the brown braids. The other two were young boys, both with rich copper hair. Several large dogs, one of them the black wolf Mya’d seen upon her arrival, tussled over a bit of bone, playfully nipping at each other.

The door swung open and a tall girl was framed in it. It took Mya a moment to place her fair skin, high cheekbones and sunset hair. “...Sara, right?”

The girl smiled and stepped into the room. She had a graceful figure; you could see that even under her plain yellow dress and thick, woven shawl. Tucked under one arm was a bundle of clothing, and the other hand held a pitcher of water. She set both on the dresser.. “Sansa. I’m glad you’re up. Mother and Robb’ll be happy."

“Me too. Feels like I’ve been sleeping for a week.”

Sansa smiled, a shy, bright thing. “Not a week, but straight through since Sunday. Are you hungry? Mother was asking if you think you can stomach some food, and I’ve brought some of my old dresses. They should fit better than what you came in, she said. If you’re feeling up for it, I’ll help you dress and come downstairs. The younger kids are curious about you, and they'll be off to school soon.”

“I...I think I could eat.” Mya ran a nervous hand through her tangled hair. “I can’t believe I slept so long. You all must think I’m a sack of lazybones.”

“Oh, hardly.” Sansa waved a hand. “Robb said that you’d been on the road for awhile by the looks of it. Tomorrow’s bath night, but I’m sure if you want, Mother will have the boys bring up some hot water from the springs today.” Her fingers were undoing the buttons on the long nightgown Mya wore as she spoke. “Truth be told, Arya could stand to have a few more baths a week. So could Rickon, for that matter.”

Mya’s mind groaned to life, struggling to remember who Arya and Rickon were. “That’s...the girl with the braids. And Rickon is the dog.” She lifted her arm as Sansa tugged the nightgown over her head, the morning air soft on her bare skin.

Sansa smiled. “Rickon _has_ a dog. And if you want to call Arya a girl, then yes. We all have dogs. Rickon’s the youngest though, and Shaggy’s half-wild. He never disciplines him like he should.” Sansa shook her head, pulling two dresses from the pile on the dresser. “Which do you like better? The brown’s newer, but the blue one would go so much better with your eyes.”

“Um.” Mya blinked as Sansa handed her the dresses. The stitching was beautiful, perfect and even and it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a store in town. “The...uh...the blue, then. Did you make these?”

“I did. Mother doesn’t have a lot of time to do much sewing, not with everything she needs to do around here with Pa gone, and Arya would sooner eat a button than sew it. So I do most of the sewing and mending.” Sansa’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Here, let me help you. I’ll work it over your head.”

“Thank you...I’d be stuck in that nightgown till my arm’s stitched back together otherwise.”

Sansa was smiling again when Mya’s head re-emerged. “It’s nothing, honest! And anyway, Arya wouldn’t let you stay in that bed, were she here. Sleeping in the boys’ room’s got her all in a twist. Ready to go adventuring or some nonsense.”

It took a moment for what Sansa was saying to sink in and when it did, Mya felt a boulder of guilt form in her gut. The toy pistols, the needlework… “Oh no, this is _your_ room, isn’t it? Yours and hers? Oh no, I’m so sorry. You should’ve just put me out on the porch.”

 “We’d never! Now here, sit.” Sansa finished fussing over the buttons on Mya’s dress and picked up a hairbrush, gently and patiently working out her tangles and knots. “Your hair’s in a sorrier state than Arya’s. ‘Course, you have an excuse. _You’ve_ spent gods know how long traipsing in the woods.” Sansa’s touch was gentle, sending little shivers down Mya’s spine. “There now, that’s much better.” Sansa efficiently twisted Mya’s hair into a long braid and pinned it in a bun at the nape of her neck. She smiled to herself, trying to remember the last time someone had done something for her, even something as simple as fixing her hair. “C’mon down for breakfast then.”

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks seemed like a blur to Mya as she adjusted to life at Winterfell. The ranch was steeped in routine, and Mrs. Stark ran it like a captain ran his ship. Everyone had their chores, and for the most part they were done without question or much complaint. The younger three children did their tasks before they left for school in the morning, but Sansa, at sixteen, had graduated the previous winter and stayed home to help her mother. There were five Stark children in all, Mya learned, plus Theon and a half-brother. Robb was the eldest at nineteen, and very much the man of the house while his father was away. He and Theon would ride out most mornings to do a fast survey of the Stark land, but neither of them liked being away from the homestead when they were undermanned. One afternoon Robb explained it to Mya.

“My father and half-brother, Jon, they’re out riding with the Wall.” He leaned on the fence surrounding the corral, where Theon was working with a high-spirited palomino yearling. At his feet his dog, a large grey wolfish creature like the others, rolled in the new grass.

Mya raised her eyebrows. “They’re both with the Wall?” She’d heard about that even in the Vale. It was a band of men dedicated to keeping the Wildlings off ‘civilized’ lands. They’d earned a reputation as hard, stern men who lived by a strict moral code - no families, no possessions, no real homes. Mya’d heard that there used to be thousands of them, trekking back and forth across the mountain range that marked the edge of settled land and the beginning of Wildling territory, but the life proved a hard one, and now all the rumors said there were only a hundred left or so.

"Nah.” Robb shook his head, the soft early spring sun glinting in his auburn curls. “My uncle is. My pa takes Jon or me an’ sometimes Theon out every couple months to do a pass with them. Jon wants to join up with them though.”

“What about you?” Mya looked at Robb. “You want to ride the range for the rest of your life?”

“No, I’ve got...other responsibilities.” Robb answered, propping a foot on the bottom fence rung. “This land. It’ll be mine someday. I’m not about to give that up. ‘Sides, why would I want to get saddlesores and go for weeks starin’ at nothing but a bunch of ugly faces when I can stay here and stare at pretty girls instead?” He gave Mya a rougish wink, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She liked Robb - he had an easy smile and an easier laugh, and always found time in the evening to play a game of checkers with one of his little brothers, or teach Arya some new roping trick.

Mya didn’t want to flatter herself, but she couldn’t help but think that Robb might return her affections. Whenever he had free time he sought her out, always asking if her arm was bothering her, or offering to take her into town. He seemed disappointed that she always declined, but it was just too soon. Somehow, someone would recognize her. She was sure she’d see her face on Wanted posters all over the place. It was safer this way, to stay away from as many people as possible.

One morning, Mya went`to the barn to check on her still-nameless gelding, whose leg was healing nicely so far. She was feeling proud, having been able to dress herself that morning with no help from Sansa or Arya. Her hair still left something to be desired, but patience had never been her strong suit. She rested her cheek against his velvety muzzle and smiled. “You like it here, buddy? They treat us real nice. A lot better than before…”

“So what’s his opinion?”

Mya’s gaze jerked up and she smiled nervously at Robb, who was leaning easily against the stall door. “I didn’t hear you come up.” She patted the horse’s neck and stepped out of the stall, shutting the door after her.  Robb stepped aside, tucking his hands in his pockets. He had a streak of dirt across his cheek, and Mya fought off the urge to clean it up for him. “He likes it. Good hay, he said.”

Robb chuckled and picked a piece of straw out of her hair, letting his fingers linger a little. “Glad to hear it. His leg’s doin’ real good, Cassel said.” He nodded at her arm. “How ‘bout you? Need me to fetch Doc Luwin at all?”

“No, no.” Mya shook her head and tried to ignore the way the sweet scent of hay and leather was rising off Robb. She held up her casted arm. “It’s getting better, look.” She managed to wiggle her fingers. “Almost fixed. Doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“Now that is somethin’.” Robb smiled broadly and brushed his fingers over hers. “Soon as you’re all healed up, we’re goin’ out for a ride. You, me, and this guy here.” He nodded at the horse.

“Are we riding double, or are you getting your own?” Mya couldn’t help but giggle. It felt unnatural, and she cleared her throat.

Robb leaned a little closer, his blue eyes twinkling. “Which would you prefer?”

Mya swallowed and hoped she didn’t look as warm as she felt. Up close, she could see every facet in his eyes, the little smile-lines around them, exactly how full his lips were. She found herself drawn closer, and closer still. She tried to remind herself that she was supposed to be a proper lady now, that she should know how to behave herself. But... “I’d ride with you.”

“Good.” Robb’s lips brushed hers tentatively, and when she didn’t pull back he pulled her closer, her chest pressed against his. Her fingers instinctively went to his hair, brushing his hat off as she tangled them in his curls.He tightened his arms around her waist with a low groan, and Mya’s heart sped. Everything about this felt _good_ \- it was something she wasn’t used to, even after years of being used for pleasure. Men paid just to fuck her, and something as simple as a kiss was a rarity.

A sudden burst of childish laughter erupted from outside, mixed with shouts and feet running. Robb jerked away from her, his eyes wide. He looked towards the barn doors, then back at her, alarmed. “I- I’m sorry, Alice, I didn’t mean...”

Mya felt her heart sink a little at his guilty expression. She’d been hoping he liked it as much as she had, but...she just shook her head and gave a rueful smile. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Maybe it was a good thing he didn't like it. It wouldn't do for them to be caught kissing or worse by one of the children. Mya had little doubt that Mrs. Stark would have her out on her rear end so fast her head would spin. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who would suffer a loose woman under her roof. _If only she knew..._

 “No, I shouldn’t have done that.” Robb stooped to pick up his hat and dusted it off roughly, nearly punching it. “Not at all.” Before Mya could respond, he stuffed it back on his head and strode stiffly out of the barn. She could hear him yelling at his little brothers outside, and her shoulders slumped a little. Her gelding nuzzled her shoulder, and she reached back to pet his nose, wondering at the stone of hurt building in her stomach.

But then a small figure raced into the barn, brown braids flying. "Al- Miss Ali`ace, you should come and see! Bran an' Rickon caught a toad out in the fields and they hid it in one a' Sansa's shoes and she's fixin' to whup them _good_!"

Despite herself, Mya gave a rueful smile. Planting a quick kiss on her horse's muzzle, she smoothed her shirt and followed Arya.

At ten, Arya was the next youngest after prim, proper Sansa, and she as as far from prim and proper as Mya had ever seen. She was a skinny, spindly, rough-and-tumble girl, all dirty knees and scraped elbows. Her dresses were largely patchwork and it was evident Mrs. Stark made her do the repairs herself. Where Sansa’s needlework was fine and perfectly spaced, Arya’s was roughshod and distracted, her patches scattered and uneven. The girl always made Mya laugh with her antics, and she was always hanging off Robb or Theon’s arm, begging them to let her ride the range with them.  Theon would always shake her off, irritated, but Robb would be more gentle with his sister, laughing and telling her “Maybe next time.”

“You always say that!” Mya overheard Arya one morning as Robb and Theon were about to head out to the barn. She was in the kitchen, awkwardly tying herbs into bundles to dry, and out the window, she saw Robb crouch down, eye-level with his youngest sister on the porch outside. She'd been at the ranch about a month now, and despite a new awkwardness around Robb, she was finally starting to feel at home here.

“We need someone to look after the ranch while we’re gone. If trouble comes knockin’, you’re the best shot in the house.” Robb’s tone was serious without being patronizing, and even though Arya’s jaw jutted out, so did her chest. “If Wildlings raid us, you know Ma’s gonna be busy getting the boys in the cellar, and Sansa’s no good with a gun. So you’re it, little girl.”

“Don’t call me that.” Arya groused. She was more annoyed with being reminded that she was a girl rather than her small size, Mya knew. In the yard, Mya saw Theon scuff a foot in the grass and spit.

“Get a move on, Stark, ‘f you wanna be done by noon.”

“Just hang on.” Robb glanced at Theon, then back at Arya. “When Pa comes back, you ask him if I can take you out on the range, alright? If he says yes, then we’ll ride out to the western pasture. Might go out by Deepwood Motte, alright?” Mya couldn’t hear Arya’s mumbled response, but Robb grinned. “There’s a girl.”

“Robb, I swear to God if you don’t quit lollygaggin’...”

“ _Alright_ , I said.” Robb rose and brushed dirt off his knees, ruffling Arya’s hair. “Arya, you go help Miss Alice gather up the eggs like Ma wanted, y’hear? We’ll be home before long.” He glanced at Mya as he set his hat on his messy auburn curls, and followed Theon to the barn. Too late, she tried to make herself look busy with the herbs she was tying, but for a moment their gazes locked, and Mya's cheeks blazed as he turned away. Ever since their kiss, Robb had been trying to distance himself from her. Even Mya could see that - he made a point of never being alone with her again, or if he was, he found an excuse to run out to the barn, or back to the house, or he suddenly heard Rickon and Bran fighting and had to break them up.

“He fancies you, y’know. Robb does.” Arya told Mya matter-of-factly later as they stooped in the chicken coop. Mya paused in brushing hay off her skirt, her eyebrows and hopes raised. “When you’re not lookin’, he looks at you the same way Jory looked at Miss Dacey and _they_ wound up havin’ to get married last Wintermas, and then in the spring Miss Dacey caught twins, a boy ‘n a girl. Sansa wanted her to name them Abel and Mabel but I thought that made them sound like a pair a’ prize hogs.” She looked peevishly at Mya, swiping a lock of brown hair off her cheek. “Me an’ Sansa got in a tussle after that and I pushed her in the pig yard and Pa took a switch to me.’

“I…” Mya felt her cheeks blaze as she gently pushed a plump brown chicken off her nest to gather the speckled eggs underneath her. The hen scolded her with a warbling cluck and pecked at her hand. “Stop that.” She didn’t want to discuss Robb, especially not with his littlest sister. “I’m sure your Pa just didn’t want you and your sister fighting.”

Arya set her half-full basket down in the hay and picked up a chicken feather, twirling it in her fingers. “Sansa’s just dumb. All she cares about is lace and flowers and songs and she never wants to go out riding with me. An’ Miss Dacey doesn’t have time for it now neither, not with the babes.”

Looking at Arya’s petulant expression, Mya realized she was in horribly over her head. She didn’t have any siblings. The other girls at the brothel...well, other than Randa, they just barely managed to not tear each other to pieces. She cleared her throat and stuck a finger under her cast, trying for an itchy spot. “Who’re Miss Dacey and Jory?”

Arya picked up her basket again, tucking it against her narrow hip. “Jory’s a sharecropper for Pa, and  Dacey...I dunno. She raises the children, I guess, and tends house like Ma. She’s out in the field with Jory’s shop a lot.” She looked up at Mya, squinting as they exited the chicken coop. “I don’t think Jeyne’ll be too keen on Robb liking you, though.”

“Who’s Jeyne?”

“She ’n’ Robb are gettin’ married, come August.”

Mya stopped dead in her tracks and had to force herself to take a breath. “She’s his fiancee?”

“Mmhmm.” Arya bent to pick up a long stick, trailing it in the dust as she walked. “She’s down at Lannisport visiting family but she should be back in a few weeks.”

“Oh.” Mya replied faintly. “Arya, can you take these eggs back up to the house? I…” She gestured lamely at the outhouse and Arya nodded, picking up Mya’s basket and balancing it carefully on top of hers before running off.

Mya bypassed the outhouse and crossed to the wood pile some yards beyond it, sitting on the old stump used as a chopping block. This explained why Robb got so skittish after he kissed her. _Of course he’s engaged._ A good, honest man like Robb, well, women would be lining up to marry him. _And there’s nothing good or honest about you,_ a niggling voice in Mya’s head reminded her. It sounded annoyingly like Lysa Arryn, and the stone she’d been carrying in her gut for days now doubled in size. _You’re nothing but a lying, thieving whore._

That night she lay awake on an old camp bed, listening to Sansa snore small, delicate snores while Arya mumbled in her sleep. Mya had volunteered to sleep on the davenport in the parlor, but Mrs. Stark wouldn’t hear of it. So while the Stark sisters huddled together under a patchwork quilt Mrs. Stark’s mother had made, Mya watched a white patch of moonlight move across the wooden floor.

She was bone tired and knew that she should sleep. Her body was begging for it; she wasn’t used to the kind of work living on a ranched entailed, even for a woman. Back in the Vale, her work had been demanding. but in a different way. Once her mother had sold her to the brothel, the other girls there--years older and far more experienced--had given her what sanctuary they could for the first few months. Lysa Arryn had taken little notice of her until her 13th birthday, when she’d sold her virginity off to a drunk, greasy cattleman. She’d cried when he had pushed into her, and he’d given her the back of his hand. The next day Lysa had screamed at her for having a bruise.

Mya had learned quickly that no matter what her mood, no matter what her last customer had done, she was expected to hitch up a smile and charm the next gentleman out of his wages. Almost as quickly, she learned that no one would rescue her. The fairy tales she and her friends had whispered to each other during her few years of school were just that - stories. There would be no handsome prince riding in to swoop her away from the brothel, and those little schoolfriends had vanished as quickly as dandelion fluff in the wind.

She rolled over on her camp bed, wincing as her arm shifted. Once, a man who’d come to the brothel had told her and the other girls about something called ‘karma’. “You reap what you sow,” he’d said. His eyes had glinted in the uneven light of the bar room as he glanced at Mya. “Usually when y’least expect it.”

Maybe that’s what was happening now. She was being punished by having Robb placed right in front of her, where she couldn't touch him at all. The thought soured her stomach a little and she shifted again on the thin bed. Mya had never really known for sure where she stood on the idea of the gods, a benevolent family watching and judging her every move. It had never seemed right to ask the town's septon about it when he visited her bed, either. But would they be this cruel? Surely, if they were omnipotent, they'd know she hadn't wanted any of it - she hadn't wanted to be a prostitute. All she'd done was run for her freedom, for her life.

_You're overthinking this._ She chewed on her lower lip. _You're being silly. You're not in love with Robb. He's a nice man is all. He's your friend. And he's getting married. He's off-limits._ Resolving to think on it no more, Mya closed her eyes and waited to sleep. _There will be more like him. One that will be available…._

And yet, as she drifted into the darkness, a little voice within her was not so sure.

 

* * *

 

Later that week, over dinner, young Rickon Stark piped up as he swirled his fork in some mashed turnips. "Miss Bessie's stopping teaching us at the end of the month."

Mrs. Stark looked at her son sternly. "Don't play with your food, Rickon. Where's Miss Bessie going?"

"Her pa's sick, and her ma called her back to White Harbor to help with the post office there." It was Arya who answered. " 'S ok, she wasn't a very good teacher anyway."

"She's better than nothing. Pass the bread, Sansa." Robb accepted the plate of bread his sister offered him and glanced around the table. "Who's gonna take her spot?"

"Some girl from down the Riverlands way." Arya spoke around a mouthful of deer meat, and earned a look from her mother. She swallowed loudly. " 'Scuse me. Anyway, they're sending her up in June and she's gonna stay with us."

There was a long beat, and Mya glanced from Robb to Theon to Mrs. Stark, suddenly wishing she had an excuse to leave. Mrs. Stark set her fork down and cleared her throat. "I beg your pardon?"

"Rickon volunteered us." Bran explained. "Can she stay with us, Ma? We've got the room. She can bunk up with Miss Alyce in Sansa and Arya's room."

"She most certainly can not!" Sansa flung her napkin down on the table. "Where is she going to sleep, on the floor? Crammed in that camp bed with Miss Alyce?"

Theon chuckled. " 'F she's pretty enough she can bunk up with me." Mrs. Stark shot him her third and most stern look, and he had the good graces to blush. "Sorry, ma'am."

"You're not my son, Theon, but I do expect you and Robb to act like proper men while Mr. Stark is out on the range, not wildling boys."

"Yes ma'am." Theon cleared his throat, and Mya smiled. During the weeks she had been at the ranch, she'd noticed that Theon had a certain swagger and arrogance about him, and she believed he thought he was on a level above everyone else. Except Mrs. Stark, anyway. She could wipe his cocksure smirk right off his face so hard it'd take a few hours to creep back.

Right now though, he'd caught Mya's small smile across the table and glowered at her. Before he could say anything, Mrs. Stark went on. “Also, Theon, I want you to bring Ellie out for Sunday dinner. It’s been awhile since we’ve seen her and she’s such a sweet girl.”

Theon looked for a moment like his deer was going down awfully hard, but nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

“Who’s Ellie?” Mya asked after a moment.

“Theon’s fiancee.” Catelyn answered when Theon didn't. “Ellie Tyrell. Her father’s a shopkeeper in town.”

Laughter bubbled up in Mya’s throat at the way Theon squirmed, but she disguised it with a cough. “Seems everyone’s getting married out in these parts.” Her eyes unwittingly locked on Robb’s, and despite herself, she was pleased to see him blush. 

That night after the dishes had been cleared and the younger children had gone to bed, Mya slipped out onto the back porch and leaned against the railing, looking up at the night sky. The stars hadn’t changed, although the air wasn’t as crisp and cold as it had been in the Vale. She used to try and count them when she was little. Her mother told her it was pointless, no one could count them all, so instead she’d gone to the Eyrie’s small, dusty library and had borrowed a thick leatherbound book with faded pictures and stories behind the names of the constellations. She'd read it religiously, losing herself in the stories of the Moonmaid, the Sow and the Stallion, the Ice Dragon, all of them. Another girl at the brothel had stolen it a year or so ago, and had traded it for opium. Mya had been devastated and had wept for a week when she was alone. The book had been the one thing she had that had been _hers_ , even if it really was just years overdue from the library.

The kitchen door squawked open behind her, and she gave herself a shake as footsteps approached. Glancing over her shoulder, she felt a little twist in her stomach. Even though she'd resolved not to let her feelings for Robb, whatever they were, develop, he'd still made a point not to be alone with her. Until now.

He held his hands together, twisting his thin fingers in an almost supplicant manner. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and she saw a long white scar twisting around his forearm. She'd noticed it before, but had never asked how he got it. Leaning against the porch railing, she crossed her arms over her stomach. For a long moment they just looked at each other. Finally, she cleared her throat. "How'd you get that?" She nodded at his arm.

Robb glanced at the scar like he'd never seen it before. "This? I fell into some barbed wire when I was ten or eleven." He rubbed his arm, nervous as any boy Mya'd ever seen. "Listen...Alice...I owe you an apology-"

Mya was already shaking her head, the knot in her stomach turning into something between mercy and pity."No, it's alright, really."

"Just let me say it, alright? I should've told you about Jeyne, and I never should've...should've kissed you. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair." Robb's hands clenched briefly, and he leaned on the railing next to her, looking out over the garden, the barn. "My parents raised me better than that."

"Robb." Mya put her hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. "It's alright. It was just a kiss. It wasn't my first, it hopefully won't be my last, and my honor remains unbesmirched." She forced a smile, fighting back the taste of bile at the lie.

He looked over at her, blue eyes glancing down at her smile before he exhaled. His lips turned upward slightly, and he covered her hand with his own. "You're a good girl, Alice Longmire."

_My name is Mya. Mya Stone_. Mya bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood and pulled her arm away. "I'm also a tired one. I'll see you in the morning."


	4. Chapter 4

Robb swiped his forearm across his face, wiping away sawdust and sweat. After the younger kids had told the household they were expecting one more guest, the new schoolteacher, Robb’s mother had put him and Theon to work, cleaning out what amounted to a storage closet at the end of the upstairs hall and sprucing it up to be a bedroom. The room was big enough for a pair of twin beds, barely, with a trunk between them. Robb’s mother had had him and Theon replace the walls, and the scent of fresh-cut pine filled the small, bright space. He wondered briefly what his father would think when he returned. He liked the privacy of Winterfell, and Robb knew he considered the home his sanctuary. How would he react to two new bodies, two strangers, in an already-crowded house?

“This looks lovely, Robb.” Sansa nudged her brother’s shoulder and handed him a glass of lemonade. Lady was sitting at her feet, her soft ears twitching this way and that. “Alice and the new teacher will just love it in here.”

“They’d better.” Robb took a long swallow of the tart lemonade. “You and Ma’re gonna make it look all nice and stuff, right?”

Sansa brushed past him and draped a small fabric runner over the trunk, and set a small rosebud vase on the dresser, complete with a small sprig of wildflowers. It was a small, homey touch, and pleasing. “Of course we are. Ma’s airing out extra quilts now, and Arya’s sewing curtains, which means I’ll be sewing curtains. When’s our guest `get here again?”

“Train gets this afternoon. Jeyne might be on it too - she wrote last week and said she’d be getting back into town between yesterday and Thursday.” Robb couldn’t help but meet Sansa’s smile. His fiancee had been away visiting family for three months. Robb hadn't even been able to see her off; he had been on the range with his father, Jon, and Theon.  They'd exchanged letters of course, but it wasn't the same as having her _here_ , where he could see her and touch her. Robb felt a fluttering of something that could've been nerves in his stomach. It had been so long - would she even _wan_ t to come back? He looked around the tiny, cramped room again, fresh sawdust glittering in the sunlight that streamed through the single, simple window. _To this?_

Of course she would. Her mother and father had lived in Winter's Town for years. She’d been here most of her life. Hell, her father was Doc Luwin’s partner and her mother was in charge of the Woman's Society at church. Jeyne Westerling had roots here. Robb gave himself a mental shake. Soon he'd have his Jeyne back, all graceful curves and honey-brown curls.

"That reminds me," Sansa's face lit up suddenly. "Take Alice with you. It's been two months since she got here, and Jeyne Poole said Doc Luwin said he wanted to take a look at her arm and maybe take the cast off. And also, stop by the general store. I ordered some fabric and Alla Tyrell told me it was supposed to come in today."

“Yes ma’am.” Robb chuckled to himself. Alice had proven to be a sweet girl, hard-working but skittish as a deer. One day, a week or two back, Jory had brought Dacey and their twins over for a visit and Robb had thought Alice was going to jump out of her skin. Her blue eyes had darted here and there nervously, and her pulse ticked in her throat every time Jory or Dacey asked her a question. He had no idea what had her so nervous, but knew it wasn't his place to ask.

Sansa was talking again, and Robb gave himself a shake. "Huh?"

"I asked if Theon was going with you." Sansa brushed a lock of hair out of her face as they started down the stairs. "Ellie's eager to see him again."

"'f I tell him that, it'll guarantee he never goes to town again." Robb replied, laughing.

"Oh hush." Sansa swatted at his arm. "I don't know why he's so against marrying her. She's a sweet girl."

Robb couldn't dispute that. Ellie Tyrell had a soft, gentle personality and quick wit, and was almost as pretty as her cousin Margaery. They had the same gleaming brown hair, the same doe eyes, and were frequently seen together. "She's a sweet girl alright, but you know Theon. He just doesn't like being told what to do. Never has. He only takes it from Ma 'cause she'll whup him and he knows it. Anyway, he's not goin' with me. Said he had to run out to the southern pasture and check a fence out there."

The story smelled a little off to Robb, but he didn't think much of it. He knew Theon sometimes just needed to go off on his own. His foster brother loved the open plains and mountains more than the confines of town, or even the confines of Winterfell sometimes. Just like it wasn't Robb's place to ask what Alice was so scared of, it wasn't his place to wheedle Theon about where he went, so long as he got his work done.

After hooking up two of the sturdy, lumbering plowhorses to the wagon, Robb was heading back into the house to find Alice when she trotted down the back porch steps, a carrot in hand. She smiled when she saw him, squinting slightly in the bright spring sun. She looked so much healthier than she had when she’d arrived, and a few months of Catelyn Stark’s cooking had put some much-needed meat on her bones. She was still fair, and would always be, Robb figured, but spending most of her day out in the sun had given her skin a healthy glow. “Headin’ into town?”

Robb nodded, stroking one of the horses’ muzzles. “Sure am, and you are too.”

Alice’s smile fled and she went pale. “No, I...I’ve got to check on-”

“Fatty’s fine.” Robb interrupted. After nearly a month Arya had taken the liberty of naming Alice’s creaky old roan, who, thanks to a steady diet of apples, carrots, and alfalfa, was living up to it. “Now I’ve got to go pick up this new schoolmarm. And Doc Luwin thinks it’s about time you get rid of that cast, so let’s skedaddle.”

“He does?”

Too late, Robb recognized the apprehension in Alice’s voice. She had promised to only stay on as long as she was laid up. Once the cast came off… _Where’s she gonna go though? She’s got nowhere else. Ma_ has _to let her stay, just a little while longer._ He nodded towards the wagon with an encouraging smile. Grey Wind had already leaped into the back of it and was waiting with his enormous paws on the sideboards, his look expectant. “C’mon. It’ll do you good to see the town. There’s a lot more to this land than Winterfell and if you’re gonna live here, you oughta get to know it. ‘sides, you can’t let Grey Wind down.”

Alice looked baffled, and Robb took advantage of the moment to guide her to the wagon. “But I promised I’d leave. Your ma…”

“You let me handle her.” Robb settled on the seat next to her and took up the reins, clicking softly to the slow, plodding chestnuts. Alice glanced over at him, her face tense, and Robb reached over to pat her hand. “You’re home here, Alice. No need t’worry. Anyway, Theon and I just busted our humps getting your new room set up. He’ll be sore if you leave now.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, and fell silent as Robb urged the horses into a trot.  

 

* * *

 

As they arrived into town, Alice was watching everything, like a mouse trying not to be swallowed by a hawk.  But Robb, who had seen the town a thousand times before, found himself watching her and her odd behavior.  Her eyes were darting around, simultaneously wary and taking everything in. Winter’s Town was bustling today, the citizens brought out by a fine, clear day. The wide main street was slightly muddy from a recent rainstorm, and store windows were thrown open to let in the fresh spring air.

The church bell was bonging out the hour when Robb stopped the wagon in front of Doc Luwin’s practice and helped Alice down. “We can leave the wagon and horses here while we run into the general store. ‘s just there.” He nodded across the street. “Sansa’ll have my hide if I don’t get her her fabric bolts.  They come in on the train, which is rare enough, and are gone within a few days.”

He tied the horses to an old, worn hitching post, inhaling deeply. Winter's Town was old, as old as Winterfell itself. The buildings were solid, stone structures with thick walls and sturdy roofs to keep the mountain cold out when the short summers ended. Now, though, windows were flung open, shutters unlatched, and the tall ancient pines that shrouded the city swayed gently back and forth. They cast shadows over the streets, straight dirt lanes overlayed with gravel to help drain the spring rains, and to keep horses and wagons from slipping when the roads iced over. At the far end of town the road curved off into the woods again, and beyond that it ran along the railroad for miles. Robb wasn't sure how many; he'd never ventured that far from home and really felt no need to. This was home to him. This was all he wanted, and all he ever would.

Alice hung behind Robb when he entered the cool shade of the general store, cupping her elbows. Ellie Tyrell stood behind the counter and greeted them both with a warm smile. It dimmed for half a second when she realized Theon wasn’t with them, but to her credit she hitched it right back up. “Mornin’, you two!”

“Mornin, Miss Ellie.” Robb leaned on the counter and glanced at Alice. She was looking around the store, taking in all the goods displayed on the wood plank walls and shelves. She seemed slightly overwhelmed, which struck Robb as odd. _She said she was from King’s Landing. Surely she’s been in a bigger shop than this._ “Sansa said you’d have some goods for her?”

“Let me check…” Ellie bit her lip, reaching under the counter to plop a large book on the counter, flipping through the pages. “Sure enough. You sit tight and I’ll get it from the back.” She brushed through the door to the storeroom, leaving Robb and Alice alone.

Robb glanced over at Alice. She was toying with a jar of beans, the edge of her cast clinking agains the glass jar. Her eyes darted to the door as footsteps approached, then passed. She exhaled softly and seemed to shrink a little. Robb nibbled a hangnail, watching her, wondering if he should offer some words of reassurance or comfort. _No, that might make her even jumpier...what do I do with her, then?_

Luckily, it was then that Ellie bustled out of the storeroom, four bolts of fabric in her arms. "Here you go! It's all on your account, and your mother can settle at the end of the month as per usual."

"These are lovely." Alice touched one of the fabrics, a soft green-on-green damask, gently. "Sansa's going to make some wonderful things out of this."

"I have no doubt. That girl's got some real talent." Ellie touched her hair nervously, twirling a light brown lock around a finger. "Can I ask a favor of you, Robb?"

"Anything you want." Robb replied, tucking the fabric under his arm, hoping the red plaid wasn’t going to wind up as a shirt for him.

"Can you ask Theon to come in to see me today? I- I know he's real busy, both of you are this time of year, but I wanted to talk to him about our wedding. Maybe set a date."

 _There's no date he'll agree to, not without four guns and a cannon aimed at him._ "Sure thing, Miss Ellie. I'll ride out and send him in, but he might not get out here till late this afternoon."

"That's fine." The bell over the door jingled as a woman and her four young children came in, and Ellie smiled apologetically at Alice and Robb. "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me."

"Course." Robb winked at her and nodded at Alice as they headed out. "Let's go see the Doc, missy. And don't let me forget Ma wanted some liniment. She said Doctor Westerling and Doc Luwin mix it up better than anyone else."

"Yes, boss." Alice smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes, but her smiles never did.

As they walked across the street, a thought seemed to strike Alice.  As Robb was putting the bolts of fabric into the back of the wagon, _damn heavy things_ , she said, “Why would anyone put off marriage plans to that nice of a girl?”

Robb said nothing.  He patted down the mare’s side, his fingers smoothing over leather leads along the way.

“Do they love each other?” Alice had moved a little closer to him.  Her voice was oddly innocent, like she didn’t know that wasn’t something you could just ask someone.

His fingers stopped, and he sighed.  He didn’t look at her. “No.”

“Then why do it?” She looked at him, her eyes piercing.

“I s’pose.” Her gaze grew distant. “I couldn’t pledge myself to someone forever without loving them, though. That’s too big.”

"Neither could I." Robb wrapped the chain of his pocket watch around his finger. "But they've got to." Alice looked at him but before she could ask any more questions, he hurried them along. “C’mon. Doc’ll be waiting.

 

* * *

 

Doc Luwin was struggling to cram a medical text onto a crooked, overstuffed bookcase when they entered, small spectacles resting neatly on his nose as he turned to greet Robb and Alice. "Young Stark and Miss Longmire. I had hoped I would see you two."

"Doc." Robb nodded and glanced around the small office. "Is Doctor Westerling not in today?"

"No sir. His daughter’s arriving on the first train from King's Landing this morning. I'm surprised she didn't write you." Luwin looked at Robb over his glasses. "That might be a fun new source of gossip for the girls across the road…”

"Last I checked, we’re still on.  Wouldn’t Ma be mad if we weren’t! " Robb bobbed his head and tried not to blush, while Alice looked on. "I imagine she wrote, but you know how the mail is."

"All too well. I imagine you'll want to see her. Young love and such." Luwin swiped at his nose with an embroidered handkerchief. "Far too messy for me. Now, Miss Longmire, I imagine you're eager to get rid of that cast?"

Alice's smile was shy and made her look childlike. Ever since her arrival, she seemed surprised and wrong-footed when people spoke kindly to her, which only piqued Robb’s interest about what she was running from. "Yessir. Robb said you think my arm's healed?"

"One way to find out." Luwin patted the battered leather exam table. "Hop up on here and let's take a look." Robb watched as the old doctor withdrew a long, slender saw and a pair of pliers, chuckling at the way Alice's eyes widened. "Take a breath, young lady. It's just to cut the plaster and pull it off. Unless I'm worse at my job than everyone thinks, that'll be that."

At Alice's tense nod, he slid the saw between the slightly dingy cast and her arm and within minutes he was pulling the two halves of plaster away. "There now..." Doc Luwin's exam of the girl's arm was careful and thorough, and he nodded as he wiped her arm down with a damp cloth, pleased. "Good as the day you were born. The skin will be sensitive, and it will be dry for a bit. You've lost a lot of muscle here in the forearm, and it'll be sore as you start to use it again, so go slow. Young Stark, you make sure you and Greyjoy don't have this lady out roping cattle or nonsense like that, understand? Doctor's orders."

Once outside, Alice rubbed her arm, seeming to relish the feel of air on her skin. "It feels so good to be rid of that cast. I hope Sansa will let me use some of that fancy lotion she's got. Doctor Luwin was right - the skin feels...strange."

"Oh, I'm sure she will. She loves showing that stuff off. Saved up her chore money for three years before Ma was able to place an order for it." Robb scrubbed a hand across his face, suddenly wishing he'd taken the time to shave before leaving for town. He'd known there was a chance that he'd get to see Jeyne today, and she hated beards on men, as if she weren’t from the Northern lands at all. They looked messy, she said.  He thought they made him look manly, so Theon took the opportunity to tease him mercilessly about tease _him_ that it was just him she thought they looked messy on.

As they strolled to the wagon, he stroked his chin self-consciously.   _Ah well, there's nothing to be done for it now._

 Returning to the wagon, he helped Alice up and took up the reins, chewing his lower lip, deep in thought. After a minute Alice coughed softly when a train whistle sounded in the distance. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Fine. Just nervous, I suppose." Robb glanced down one of the dusty side streets. “Jeynie’s been gone for so many months…” The train whistle sounded again, much closer this time, and the sounds of clattering train wheels and hissing steam drifted down the wide main street as the engine wheezed and chugged into view. “I’ve missed her.”

“I’m sure she’s missed you too.” Alice tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear. “She’s going to keep missing you too, unless you get these horses moving.”

The train stop, more of a crooked little platform with a faded sign reading ‘Winter’s Town’ swinging from a splintery pole, wasn’t crowded. A handful of weary travellers milled around a pile of trunks and carpetbags, all slightly coated with soot. Robb jerked the reins gently, patting the larger of the horses on the rump as he hopped down. Steam still rushed out of the gleaming black locomotive, and a few porters bustled back and forth from the passenger cars.

“Why don’t you wait here?” He suggested to Alice. “I’ll just be a minute.” At her nod, he scanned the platform. It took him a mere minute to locate Jeyne’s familiar figure, perched neatly on her trunk and talking animatedly to a second girl. Robb smiled, running a hand through his hair.

Jeyne was as beautiful as the last time Robb had seen her - her brown hair was gleaming, done up in elaborate curls, brown eyes sparking. She was dressed in what Robb could only assume was the style down south - a deep purple dress with long sleeves, a tight bodice, and a ruffled, beaded skirt with a large bustle.   _Gods forbid Sansa catch wind of those bustles. She'll never be able to fit in the house again._

She turned toward him then, his Jeyne, and broke out into a wide smile as she stood. "Robb!"

"Jeynie..." He strode across the platform and took both her hands in his, fighting back the urge to pull her into his arms. "You look beautiful."

"Oh hush." Jeyne laughed and touched her hair. She looked up at him, and Robb's heart and stomach both rose fluttered when she reached up to touch his face. "Your beard..."

"I know." Robb caught her hand and kissed her palm. " I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to fix it for you.” He twined his fingers through hers. “I have to pick up another passenger, but let me give you a ride home. Or just drop off your things, and then come out to the ranch. Ma and Sansa've missed you, and Bran's grown about a foot."

"Oh..." Jeyne sounded disappointed. "Robb, I'd love to, you know I would, but I'm plumb exhausted from all the travel. And I'd sure love to see my brother and sister. Parents too." Her tone switched to a gentle teasing. "' Now, who else're you picking up here?"

"New schoolteacher. I don't even know her name-"

"Roslin!" Jeyne's eyes lit up, and she turned to the girl she'd been speaking with. "Roslin, I think this is who you're supposed to meet."

The second girl stood, and Robb was surprised to see she barely came up to Jeyne's chin. She had a square, expressive  face with a small chin, and right now that face was full of trepidation and a hint of nervousness. Her eyes were dark and sparkling, her dark hair done up in a style like Jeyne's. Her dress was similar too, except where Jeyne's was a rich plum, hers was a dark burgundy. She clutched a ragged carpet bag in her hands and looked up at him. " I'm Roslin Frey. Are you from the school?"

"Uh." Robb cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at Alice, who was waiting patiently in the wagon, scratching Grey Wind’s ears. "Not...not quite, ma'am, but I _am_ here for you. My name's Robb Stark. You'll be staying with my family out at our ranch. Here, let me..." Robb reached for her bag but she clutched it close.

"No no, please. I can carry this. It's old and the handle falls off if you don't carry it just so." Roslin stroked the bag idly as if it were a pet, and glanced at Jeyne. "Thank you for the company during the trip.It was so nice to have someone to talk to."

"Of course." Jeyne smiled and squeezed Roslin’s hand. "My father'll be here any minute. You go on with Robb. Come to church with the Starks on Sunday, and you can help my mother and the women's society plan the next town dance."

Roslin smiled. "I'd love to." She glanced at Robb again, then at Jeyne, and her cheeks tinged pink. "Is that your wagon over there? I'll go and let you say a proper goodbye. Mr. Stark, can you see to my trunks?" She gestured to three large, slightly battered trunks waiting on the platform. At Robb's nod, she gave Jeyne another smile and headed towards the wagon. Robb saw Alice toy with her braid nervously as Roslin climbed up. Jeyne touched his cheek, pulling his attention back to her.

"Tomorrow then? Come by for lunch if you can. Once I'm rested, I'll tell you all about my trip." Jeyne looked up at him through long, dark lashes, and Robb couldn't help himself. He leaned in and gave her a long, soft kiss. He heard two old women passing by the platform gasp and start whispering to each other, clucking like so many hens. When he pulled away from Jeyne he gave them a charming smile. "Ladies."

"Robb!" Jeyne hissed, nudging his side. "Will you _behave_? Now, you're coming for lunch tomorrow, right?"

"I'll come. I promise." Robb touched his forehead to hers. "We'll take a walk down by the swimming hole after."

"My brother and sister will want to come."

"Let them." Robb brushed a curl off Jeyne's shoulder and glanced back at the wagon. "I've got to get back home."

 

* * *

 

By the time the trio had returned to Winterfell and Roslin's things had been brought to the small room She and Alice  would share, the sun was starting a long, slow slide towards the west. After he'd unhitched the draft horses from the wagon and seen them fed and watered, he saddled up his trusty black mare Midnight and tapped her sides with his heels. He knew Theon would find an excuse to not go see Ellie tomorrow, much like he always did, but Robb had to be able to say that he'd at least tried.

The ride out to the southern pasture was an easy one - all the hard land was to the north and west. The south and east were rolling pastures full of sweet grass, and dotted with sharecroppers' fields. The landscape was broken up with groves of trees, ash and giant, sprawling oaks, whisper-thin evergreens. When the wind was from the south, like it was today, Robb could smell a faint dampness - the smell of the marshlands that surrounded Moat Cailin, a once-prospering farm, miles away.

Midnight pounded across a wide, braided river, leaping easily over a fallen log. Robb gave the mare her head, feeling a thrill in his stomach at the way her strong legs churned through the spring grass. Soon enough he had to rein her in as he reached the pasture. Theon would be around here somewhere...Robb's eyes scanned the thick forest bordering the far side of the pasture and nudged Midnight forward, weaving through the cattle roaming the field.

The sun was starting to set when he entered the forest and the air was cool and purple in the falling dusk. Robb could smell woodsmoke the further he got in, and fought off a yawn. "Theon?" He called after some time. "Theon, quit hiding!"

There was no response, and Robb sighed as he urged Midnight further into the underbrush. To his right he heard a low voice, unintelligible, and a higher-pitched laugh. A woman's laugh.

He slowed Midnight to a stop and dismounted. "Easy girl,” he whispered, only half to his horse.  “Hush there. Just follow me."

Robb was careful where he stepped, feeling slightly irritated. He knew about Theon's proclivities at the town's brothel but he'd never thought he would actually steal one of the girls away to go camping in the woods, or that any of them would let him. "That's rich, Greyjoy. A real lark," he muttered.

Midnight whickered and nudged his shoulder. There was a clearing just ahead, and Robb caught glimpses of movement. He slowed his steps, pushing a limb out of the way and the bottom fell out of his stomach.Theon had brought a woman out alright, but not one Robb had ever seen before.  She had pale, freckled skin and blazing red hair. She was naked and sitting astride Theon, her head thrown back in pleasure as they made love. _She's a Wildling_ , he realized dully. Her clothing was scattered around them, all buckskin and leather, all handmade. _We're supposed to be fighting them and keeping them off this land, not...not this!_

Robb would never know what made the redheaded Wildling look his way. Maybe he'd stepped on a branch or coughed. Maybe it was his driving desire to send a round of buckshot into her chest that somehow communicated itself to her. But she whipped around, her eyes cold as she took him in. Her nails dug in to Theon's chest, and when his eyes met Robb's there was shock there and...shame? He sat up half-way, his hands on the Wildling woman's hips even as she was sliding off him, grabbing her bow. Theon scrambled to his feet. “Robb-”

Robb had taken half a step forward when the first arrow hit him in the ribs on the left side, knocking the breath from him like the kick from a horse. Before he could react to that there was a second deep in his gut, a third in his right shoulder. By then he was on his knees, blood pounding in his ears. He struggled to draw a breath as Theon raced to his side, trying to hold him up. _How..._ Theon was yelling something, he couldn't tell what...Robb blinked and coughed. Something warm spattered out of his throat and onto his face.

"Theon..."

Theon looked down at him, his face contorted in panic as he struggled to keep a hold on Robb. "You just hang on, Robb. Just stay awake, you hear me?" He glanced away, his panic giving way to anger. “What the Hell are you _thinking_ , Ygritte?”

Hard as Robb tried, he couldn't keep his eyes open. He let them close and felt like he was spinning, caught in a whirlpool. Was this it? Was he dying? He couldn’t be...Jeyne was expecting him tomorrow. They were getting _married_ in a matter of months, and his ma... He said he’d be back for supper...

Robb was dimly aware that Theon couldn’t hold him anymore, was laying him down. The grass was softer than he’d thought it would be - new still, soft and cool and untouched by summer heat or winter frost. He was tired, so tired...he tried to draw another breath but it was so hard...Robb was numb, floating. Theon’s shouts and the Wildling woman’s shrill responses quieted, dimmed.  Soon, all sound was lost underneath the white whine in his ears, and Robb sank.


	5. Chapter 5

Theon stormed out of the house, letting the screen door slam behind him. He felt sick; he was covered in blood, _Robb’s blood, you idiot_ , and behind him he could hear Cat’s frantic questions, Doc Luwin barking commands to Doctor Westerling, Grey Wind’s whining. Somewhere over all that one of the younger kids was crying, a keening sound that went straight through him.

“ _Goddammit. GodDAMMIT._ ” Theon clenched a fist and slammed it into the rough-hewn side of the barn. The pain was dull, too dull, and he did it again and again until his knuckles were bloodied and swollen and even then it wasn’t enough.

The last few hours were a blur. One minute he’d been gripping Ygritte’s hips, lost in her feel, and the next he’d seen Robb’s face ghost pale in the cool woods as he gaped at them. Theon couldn’t remember if he’d said anything or not. Ygritte had been too fast - she’d leapt off him and had put three arrows into Robb before he could so much as blink. He’d screamed at her, but again the words escaped his memory. All that had mattered was Robb.

Theon didn’t remember pulling on his clothes but he did remember how limp Robb was when he pulled him onto Smiler. He had an arm wrapped around Robb’s torso, struggling to keep him upright. Robb was a dead weight, no better than a sack of grain, and his head lolled sickeningly. Without a glance back at Ygritte, who was standing in stunned silence, he’d seized Midnight’s reins as well as Smiler’s and had pounded west towards Winterfell.

He’d come across Jory Cassel’s wheat fields and had urged Smiler through them, heedless of the tender green shoots slapping against his shins. The farmer had glared when he’d seen Theon coming, but only for a moment. “Go into town!” Theon had barely slowed down. “Send the doc to the ranch!” Sending Jory would save him time - he was close enough to town that if he could get word to Doc Luwin fast enough, the doctor might be able to beat him back to Winterfell.

That had worked. Both of the town doctors were waiting, and Theon would never forget the way Cat screamed when she saw her son, limp and grey. Theon had seen Sansa and Alice on the stairs, pale and shocked, and had hurried towards them. “Keep the younger ones upstairs. Keep ‘em out of the way.”

Robb had been taken into the parlor, and Doctor Westerling, who was slated to become Robb’s father-in-law at the end of the summer, had pushed Theon back when he tried to follow. “Not you, Greyjoy. Just me and Doc Luwin.” Theon had tried to argue even as the door was shutting in his face, and now here he was, pummelling the side of the barn and sick with anger, betrayal and fear.

He’d _trusted_ Ygritte, confided in her. She knew him better than anyone, even Robb. She knew he thought of the boy like a brother. _And she killed him._ Bile rose in Theon’s throat, and he doubled over, gripping the barn wall with one hand as he retched.

“Theon?” His head jerked up, his eyes streaming. Alice was standing a few feet away, her face white and still. She held a rolled up bit of cloth in her arms, hugging it to her chest.

“What.” His voice was hoarse and dull in the falling dusk, and he swiped a hand across his mouth. “He’s dead, ain’t he. Just tell me.”

Alice shook her head jerkily, some of her black hair escaping her messy braid. “N-no. I don’t think so, anyway. The doctors are still working. They haven’t said anything.”

Theon sat heavily on an old pine stump, resting his elbows on his thighs. He wished the stupid girl would just leave him alone. Girls were what had gotten him into this mess. Blasted women.  He’d never had much luck attracting any good ones, especially in Robb’s shadow, and lately he was like shit and they were like flies. “What do you want, then?” he snapped.

He heard her footsteps, surprisingly soft. “I thought you might want this.”

Theon glanced up and saw what he first thought to be a handkerchief rag was actually one of his shirts. The fine bones of her hand, wrapped in pale, pearly skin, stood out against the red cloth.  Red, like Ygritte’s hair. Red, like Robb’s blood.  

For a minute he wanted to yell at her and push her away. Why the fuck would he care about what he was wearing? He stood abruptly, a hand flying up on its own accord to strike her, and his stomach quaked when he saw her flinch. After a moment, he let it fall and tried to take a breath, to calm down a little, forcing his gaze away from her.

The whole night was quiet and calm and it wasn’t right. The world should be raging, screaming at his stupidity and blindness. And yet here she was, just standing there, still as the night falling around them.

_She’s just tryin’ to be nice. Ain’t her fault._ He glanced at her through his bangs, full of anger and guilt, and swiped it from her.  “Thanks.”

Alice was looking at him warily as he took it. “It’s nothin’. Just a shirt but…” She shrugged. Theon could see the questions on her lips: What happened? Who did this?...but to her credit, she held them back and for that he was thankful. She nodded back at the stump. “Sit down.”

Theon yanked his ruined, bloodstained shirt over his head and tossed it aside. It lay crumpled on the ground, the blood dried to a grotesque brown. He hadn’t realized how much blood had been on it, and the sight of it now nearly made him sick again. The night air felt cool on his hot skin, and he slumped on the stump again. He watched, expressionless, as Alice dipped her rag in the rain barrel and turned back to him. “Hold still. You’re covered in…” She swallowed hard. “You’re a real mess.”

She gently dabbed Robb’s blood off his face and neck, remaining quiet the whole time while Theon gritted his teeth. Rinsing the cloth and wringing it out, she sighed. “Let me see your hand.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my hand.” He flexed it, opening the many small cuts between his knuckles even more. Blood beaded up and dripped between his fingers and while it stung, he welcomed the pain. He deserved the pain.

When he looked at her, Alice’s expression was exasperated and one that Theon was used to getting from Sansa or Cat. When she saw him looking though, she glanced away quickly. _What, is she afraid I’ll hit her?_ She knelt in front of him, sweeping the skirt of her lavender dress under her knees. Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she wiped his own blood off his knuckles. She wasn’t as gentle when she started pulling splinters out, and Theon bit back a grunt when she pulled a particularly large shard out from between his ring and middle fingers. “Easy, girl.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t raise her eyes and looking at her - kneeling on the ground, her thin shoulders slumped and her head bowed - Theon had the sudden inkling that she had spent a lot of time apologizing for things that weren’t her fault. He shoved the thought aside roughly. There were more important things on his mind.

“ ‘s ok. You didn’t put them there.” Theon stood and raked a hand through his hair while Alice tied her handkerchief around his hand. Her touch was firm but timid at the same time, and Theon wondered if he was imagining the way her hands were shaking. “Go on back to the house. Tell Cat...tell Mrs. Stark I’ve got some things to take care of.”

Not bothering to wait for her response, he entered the barn and went straight to Smiler’s stall. The stallion had his muzzle buried in a grain bucket, and snorted when he saw Theon. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said shortly. “You and me gotta go back out.”

He tried to keep his mind focused purely on the ride back out to the pasture, praying to whoever was listening that Ygritte was still in the area while at the same time hoping she wasn't. Their campsite was easy to find. The fire was still smouldering, and the underbrush where he'd torn through on Smiler was still bent and broken. Theon dismounted and looked around the clearing for any sign of Ygritte, trying to remember what he was here for. His fists clenched and the skin over his knuckles broke again, started bleeding. It didn't seem real that he had been so happy just a few hours ago, so content. It seemed like a dream, and now he was in a nightmare.

A low, undulating birdcall disturbed the dusk: a whippoorwill. The sound speared through Theon, burning somewhere deep, and he had to force himself to breathe. It came again and her name came out in a hot rush. It had been one of their signals to each other. "Ygritte."

She emerged from a clump of bog birch and cliffrose, moving cautiously. "Y'came back. Wasn't sure you would." Ygritte looked him up and down, coming no closer. “And unarmed, y’lunkhead.”

Theon's eyes lingered on her throat, where a red suckmark still lingered. He'd put it there and now he wanted to cut it from her skin, to remove any hint that he’d touched her or loved her. It took him a long while before he could look at her face. He'd memorized every freckle, the soft curve of her cheek, the exact color of her eyes and the gap in her teeth and he felt like he was looking at a stranger. "Why'd you do it, Ygritte?"

"He saw us.”

“So?  He was my brother, my-”

“He was one’a _them_.  One a those people you go on about hating.”

“That doesn’t mean he should die!”

She straightened up, lips tight.  “You’re not supposed to be seen with other women, right? He was gonna run back to your keepers and then they'd never let you out again. You'd be trapped."

“He’d have kept quiet, if you’d just let me talk to him!  And now, thanks to you, he can’t speak at all!” Theon droped his face in his hands to push back the tears, break through the crack in his voice, and when he looked up, she was walking towards him.  

"No." The word was thick in his throat, but he forced it out and forced himself to step away from her. "He's the closest thing to family I've got-"

" _I'm_ the closest thing to family you've got. And you are mine." Barefoot and quiet as a doe, she stepped over brush and twig and her hand reached up to touch his face.  It was cool, and he swatted it away.

"Don't."

Ygritte's voice was suddenly sharp as a knife. "I am your family, Theon, and you're mine, more than you know. So come with me like we talked about. We'll be miles away by sunrise."

“Never.”

"Theon, I did it for _us_. So we could be together.  Just us, like we want to." She tilted her head, and he realized she honestly didn't think she'd done anything wrong.

Theon felt like he was being strangled. "I said no."

"You're saying that because you're upset." Ygritte’s hand returned, to trail down his shirt, and for a moment he wished he'd kept the bloodstained one on to show her what she'd done. "Stay with me tonight, and tomorrow we'll-"

" _No._ " Theon gripped her wrist and pushed her away. Alice had washed the blood from him but he could still smell it, rising from him in a noxious cloud. Ygritte would kill again for him, kill everyone, and suddenly he wanted no part of her allure.  She was a huntress, and she didn’t care who he loved, because he, and all of them, were her prey.  "I'm going back to Winterfell. And mark my words - if I ever see you, or hear you, or so much as _smell_ you again, I'll kill you."

Ygritte blinked, and her features hardened. Her eyes grew cold, welling up as her hands clenched into fists. Part of Theon expected her to fling her hunting knife into his chest. Part of him welcomed the thought.

" 's that how you want it, then?” she said bitterly. “Fine. I'll go. But you have no idea what you're giving up." She turned on her bare heel and disappeared back into the brush. After a rustling of leaves, Theon heard her mount her horse and gallop away.

Just like that, she was gone.

Theon stood in the empty clearing next to a dying fire for a long time after Ygritte fled, staring at a patch of bent-over, bloodstained grass, his mind numb and his chest feeling overly full and empty at the same time. The moon was swinging high by the time he mounted Smiler again, and he let the horse steer himself back to Winterfell. The stallion knew the way.

The sight of Winterfell lit up - all the windows blazing with light - didn't warm Theon the way he hoped it would. All that lay inside were questions that he'd have to answer, and which he didn't know if he could lie his way out of. _And Robb._ If Robb was dead, he'd never be able to live with himself; he certainly wouldn’t be able to live with the Starks any longer. They may as well dig Theon’s grave next to Robb’s.

But if he lived…

They would know what had happened, unequivocally, and run him out. Robb’s disappointment would be unbearable. Theon prickled at the thought, and suddenly, unexpectedly, a wave of pride swept through him, making him sit up straighter on his horse.  Greyjoys were bred not to feel shame. That was something his father had drilled into him when Theon was a boy. No matter what they judged of him, he wouldn’t apologize. What good would it do, anyway?

_ You've been with the Starks more than half your life, though. You're as much a Stark as a Greyjoy. And Starks are honor and truth and loyalty. So what does that make you? Can you have honor with no shame, loyalty to blood that’s not yours? _

Dragging his feet, Theon mounted the back steps and pulled the kitchen door open. The room was ominously empty, and he continued across the narrow hall to the main sitting room where the family had gathered. Sansa was on the davenport, her arms wrapped around a dozing Rickon, while Bran curled up against her side. His eyes were wide and dark, giving him a wizened look. Arya was squatting in front of the fire, throwing pinecones into it with a mechanical regularity. No one jumped when they popped, suggesting she’d been at it for sometime. Alice was curled up on one of the sitting chairs opposite Cat, and a short brown-haired girl, maybe Sansa’s age, maybe Alice’s, lurked near the mantle. They all stared at Theon expectantly, suspiciously, as he entered, and he felt as though he was about to be shot, stuffed, and mounted on the wall.

“Theon.” Cat spoke first, and she sounded as though she’d aged twenty years in a day. She stood rigidly, brushing her hands over her skirt. “What happened?” The room was silent save for another unnoticed pop in the fireplace, and Theon swallowed hard. He glanced at the younger kids, then back to their mother, and she nodded. “Roslin, Alice, would you mind…?”

Alice and the stranger by the mantle nodded and ushered the younger kids upstairs, with Arya protesting the entire way. Once silence had fallen again, Theon threw himself onto the davenport and rubbed his face. “How is he?”

“The doctors are staying with him.” Catelyn responded after a moment. “They’re not sure if…” She cleared her throat and sat again. The look she gave him was cold.  “Theon, tell me what happened to my son.”

So that was it.  The line had been drawn. _Never again will you be one of us. This is your fault. Robb’s blood is on your hands._

Theon’s mind raced to come up with a lie, and stopped on a partial truth instead. “Wildlings. Well. A Wildling. Ambushed him. Ambushed us.”

“Wildlings?” Sansa’s eyes were wide with fear. “But...you were south of here. They’re not supposed to be that far south.”

“It was just one.” Theon glanced at her, unable to hold her gaze. “And he’s taken care of.” He didn’t know why he hadn’t said ‘She’. If he even acknowledged Ygritte’s gender the entire story might come spilling out and then what?

“You killed him?” Cat leaned forward slightly, her hands clenched as if she expected a Wildling raiding party to burst into the room and scalp them all.  “Are you sure? Are you sure there was only one?”

“Yes ma’am.” Theon couldn't look at any of them, and stared at the flames instead. They danced the way Ygritte’s hair would dance in the wind. Numb as he tried to keep himself, Theon felt like Smiler had kicked him in the gut. “He’s gone.”

 

* * *

 

Doc Luwin sent Doctor Westerling home at dawn for rest, and when Theon entered the kitchen after a sleepless night pacing the sitting room, the old man was dozing at the kitchen table, his bald head propped on one hand. The room was warm from the fireplace, as always, but not bright. Clouds filled the sky outside, and a cool, foggy mist drifted across the yard. A pot of coffee sat on the stove, and when Theon poured a mug for the doctor, it smelled burnt and acrid. “I’ll brew you up a fresh pot,” he mumbled.

“No need, son.” Doc Luwin sounded as tired as he looked, and he held out a hand. “I’ll take it. The worse it tastes, the quicker it’ll wake me up.” He took a sip and pulled a face as it went down. “Sit down.”

“Will Robb live?” Theon eased his weary frame into a chair.

The doc sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over the grey-white stubble on his jaw. “Maybe. Too soon to tell. One of the arrows hit his small intestine and...well, I’ll spare you the details but my hope is that won’t fester. The arrow in his chest punctured a lung. By the time you got him back here half his chest was filled with blood.”

“I  was ridin’ as fast as I could, doc.” Theon could hear the plaintive tone in his voice.

“I know you did, son. No one’s blaming you here. He was lucky you were there.” Doc Luwin reached over and patted Theon’s arm. “If he makes it through till tomorrow morning, I’d wager money that he’ll live. He’ll be out of action for a long time, but he’ll live.”

Just then, the kitchen door swung open and the brunette girl from the night before stood framed in the doorway. She was dressed for sleep in a long, sleeveless white gown, her dark brown hair in a braid over her shoulder.  She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and upon seeing them, wrapped it tighter around herself. Her large, doe eyes darted back and forth between Theon and the doctor. "I'm sorry, I didn't know ya'll were up. I was going to fix some breakfast for Mrs. Stark."

The doctor stood, offering the girl his chair despite his obvious bone-weariness. "There's nothing to apologize for, child. I don't believe we've met...?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Flustered, the girl twisted the end of her braid. "I'm Roslin Frey. I'm meant to be the schoolteacher. The Starks are puttin' me up for the time being. I just got here yesterday." She glanced quickly at Theon, then away. "This is all so awful. I feel so bad for Mrs. Stark. She was up all night." Her cheeks blazed red. "Though I suppose you know that."

Doc Luwin shook her small hand and guided her to the chair. "I do, Miss Frey. I'll fix Mrs. Stark some tea, and then with any luck, you can convince her to get some rest. She'll need it these next few weeks. Now...you're from the south, aren't you."

Roslin nodded and Theon stood abruptly. "Doc, I gotta see Robb..."

"You'll do no such thing, son." Luwin's tone was firm and paternal and it drove Theon crazy. "He's not awake yet, I told you. He needs rest right now. So do you."

Theon grit his teeth and fought off the urge to punch the old man. "What I need, _Doc,_ is for people to quit tellin' me what to do, and to see my friend." He glanced at Roslin, who was staring at her hands, her ears red. "You sure picked the worst time to show up here, Miss Frey. Enjoy your stay, and tell Mrs. Stark I'm goin' into town."

 

* * *

 

The cold mist turned to a steady, driving rain by that afternoon, and it continued for four days straight. During that time, Theon would rise from his bed every grey morning, do the morning chores he and Robb had split up before, and as soon as he could he would make an excuse to go into town.

He always wound up at the brothel, getting drunk off bad whiskey and landing in bed with at least two of the whores. But none of them were good enough. None of them were Ygritte. None of them had her rough laugh, her passion, her heartbeat. None of them knew his body and soul the way she had. They were barely enough to take the edge off the tension that was coiling hot in his chest, barely enough to quiet the rage that threatened to burn him.

As soon as he was done with them, he'd make his way back to the ranch, and continue to do the work of two men. It proved to be impossible, and it was starting to show. He knew he reeked of whiskey, and saw how people were starting to stare. Word had spread of Robb’s injury, and the few townsfolk who had grown the stones to ask him about it had barely escaped with all their teeth.

“Let them stare,” he muttered to Smiler one wet evening. “Let them fucking stare all they want.”

Robb didn't wake up during those four days, but Doc Luwin didn't seem concerned. The more he slept, the more strength he could recover. He and Doctor Westerling made frequent trips out to check on him though, and the second day Doctor Westerling brought Jeyne. Theon normally didn't have a problem with Robb's fiancee, but the way her chin wibbled, and the way her eyes welled, started to drive him up the wall. She would sit with Robb and hold his hand, telling him all about the next big party the town was having, how he had to wake up so they could dance together. _Like he would even care about a fucking dance._ Infuriatingly, he had to watch as she took over the role of Robb’s nursemaid, often ushering people out when it was time for her father or Doc Luwin to change Robb’s bandages or bathe him. The only person she couldn’t ban from the room was Catelyn.

The only person they didn’t let in at all was Theon. Even Arya, Bran, and Rickon were allowed to see their older brother for a few minutes every other day, but as soon as Theon tried, Jeyne would materialize and bar his entrance.

And Jeyne was always there. Every single time Theon came home, she was there. Whenever he woke up, she was there.  As if to say _You’re not good enough.  You’re not right enough._

Theon couldn’t blame her, not really. She and Robb had been childhood sweethearts and were set to marry, so why _wouldn’t_ she want to be here? But still... _she’s not the only one who cares about him._

On the third day, Theon got five minutes alone with Robb when Jeyne had to step out to the outhouse. Sneaking in, Theon found the parlor, which had been converted to a sickroom, a hard place to be, and he was happy, for a split second, that Robb was unconscious. The air was stifling and thick, full of the smell of sickness and medicine. The drapes had been pulled shut, the windows latched, and it was all he could do to not throw them open and let some fresh air in.

He sat next to his best friend and brushed a hand across his clammy brow. Robb’s face was pale and drawn, his skin starting to look paperish as it stretched across his cheekbones. His beard was growing in, scraggly and red, and Theon knew Robb would hate it.

"I'm so sorry, pal. This is...this is all my fault." Robb's eyes flicked back and forth behind closed lids, and Theon pressed his lips together. "For fuck's sake, Robb. Just wake up and yell at me already."

Behind him there was a quiet cough and Theon just about leapt out of his skin. "I'm sorry, Theon, Mrs. Stark's looking for you." It was Alice again, her hands folded at her slender waist.

Theon cleared his throat, in turns angry and embarrassed at being caught talking to someone who would most likely never respond. He brushed past Alice brusquely, and she flinched away from him.  "Next time, knock."

It was like they took away one man, and suddenly the house was fucking _full_ of women. They haunted the place like ghosts; all pale and scared and silent. He couldn’t get away from the damn things, and they were always getting in his way.

Cat was waiting for him in the formal dining room, her hands resting on the back of Ned's chair. She wasted no time. "We need help around here, Theon. There's too much work for one man to do by himself, and the boys aren't old enough. T'morrow I want you to ride over to Jory Cassel's and see if Dacey can spare him for a time."

"He can't leave her and the twins. Not this time a' year." Theon shook his head. "I'll do better, Mrs. Stark. I'll get up earlier and see to-"

"Theon." Cat's voice was softer than he'd heard it in a long while. Softer than it had ever been when she spoke to him. "Theon, I know how torn up you are about Robb, but you're going to work yourself into the ground. And that’s not what we want.  But…” She sighed, pressing her lips together. “You're right. Jory's got too much going on to leave his family, and I guess I can't ask him to. I'll have to write Jeor Mormont, see if he can track down Ned and Jon and send them back. It'll be next to impossible...but what else can we do?"

"I don't know." Theon shook his head. Behind him there was a quiet knock on the doorframe, and for the second time Alice nearly scared the wits out of him. He fought off the urge to throw up his hands. Odds were that’d send the girl fleeing in tears. "What now?"

"May I come in?" Alice was talking to Cat, not Theon. At Cat's nod, Alice slipped in and let the dining room door swing shut behind her. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, honestly, but I couldn't help but hear..." Theon sighed and made a 'Get on with it' gesture at Alice, ignoring Cat's scolding look. Alice knotted her hands together. "I want to help."

"I appreciate that, Alice, and I appreciate the help you've given with the younger kids, and around the house." Cat just looked tired now and Theon’s irritation grew. _This isn’t the time._ Couldn’t the damn dumb girl see that?

"No, I mean..." Here Alice glanced at Theon, those big blue eyes of hers wrought with nerves. "I want to help you, Theon. With what Robb did. With...riding out on the range. You’ve been so kind, letting me stay here while I healed, and I haven’t been able to pay you back.”

Theon and Cat stared at her for a moment, and then Theon laughed derisively. “Are you jokin’?”

“No.” Alice shook her head. “I mean it, I want to help.”

“What, you expect to just hop on Fatty and...I don’t know, go out to the pastures and pick wildflowers?” He snorted. “Don’t be stupid. It’s work out there. Hard work, not women’s work.”

“Theon.” Cat silenced him with a word and turned her attention back to Alice. “That’s kind of you to offer, Alice, but it’s a lot more work than you realize, and I can’t let you put yourself in that sort of position. And you don’t know the first thing about what Theon and Robb do.”

“Theon can teach me.” Alice turned to him with such hope and determination on her face that Theon didn’t know if he wanted to roll his eyes or punch her. “I’m a fast learner, and I can already ride. Sort of.”

“Can you shoot?” Theon turned to face her, his arms crossed. “Can you hunt? Start a fire? Round up cattle? You ever had to put a wounded animal out of its misery?”

She seemed to shrink before him, all except her eyes. Those remained on his face, hardening slightly. “No. But I can learn.”

“You wanna learn, go talk to the little teacher.” Theon jerked his head toward the door.

“That’s enough, Theon.” Cat’s voice had regained its familiar sharpness, and it was almost comforting, a hint of the normalcy that had been turned on its head. “Alice, dear, if you really want to help out with the outside chores while Robb is recovering I’d be glad to have you stay on. And,” her tone grew more pointed while Theon glowered, “I’m sure Theon will be glad to help you learn the ropes. Won’t you, Theon.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Theon replied shortly. “But if you get yourself killed, ‘s not my fault.”

Alice didn’t flinch away at his tone, staring at him evenly. It made Theon unaccountably uncomfortable and he was suddenly anxious to leave the room. “When do we start?”

Theon tried to figure out some way to get out of this, but he knew when he was cornered. “Be ready at dawn.”


	6. Chapter 6

Mya woke with a start. In the twin bed across the small room from her, Roslin lay sprawled on her back, snoring robustly, her hair flung over her face and fluttering with her breath. The room was barely lit, but a tall, lanky form stood next to her bed. A tall, lanky, male form stood next to her bed.

In a rush she remembered. She bolted upright, her blankets slipping down over her shoulder, along with one wide strap of her nightgown. “Oh heavens,” she said, both to herself and to the man.

Roslin, however, slept on, her snores uninterrupted.

“I said dawn.” Theon replied. He was wearing his longcoat and had his hat pulled down low over his eyes. What she could see of his face looked displeased. He spoke just loud enough for her to hear. “Now get dressed.”

Mya scrambled out of bed, her long nightgown tangling around her legs. “I’ll be right down. I’m sorry.”

Theon stared at her a moment, then waved a hand carelessly as he turned to go. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Mya scrambled for her clothes the second he shut the door behind him, digging in the trunk at the foot of her bed. Of course none of Sansa’s dresses would be practical but somewhere at the bottom...there. Quickly, quietly, she pulled out the too-big trousers, belt, and shirt she’d arrived in so many weeks ago, dressing quickly. Now that they'd been cleaned, they were surprisingly comfortable as she slipped them on over her bloomers and chemise. Hurriedly, she straightened the blankets on her bed and cast a small smile at the still-sleeping Roslin. She and the girl, both outsiders to this family and their trauma, were becoming fast friends. Mya had never been good at keeping friends, but for now, being able to confide in Roslin was nice.

The atmosphere at Winterfell had been tense and grim since Theon had brought Robb home, bleeding nearly to death.  Mrs. Stark had spent nearly all her time in the parlor turned sickroom with him, and the few times Mya had peeked in she'd been holding Robb's hand, stroking his hair from his brow, spooning bits of weak broth between his lips. It twisted Mya's heart to see it, and all she wanted to do was to take the entire Stark clan in her arms and hold them, offer them what comfort she could. They seemed to be stern folk though, stoic. Sansa had stepped into her mother's place for the time being, delegating tasks and chores as best she could, but it was wearing on her. While Sansa wore her grief in her pale face and trembling hands, the younger children were unable to remain so composed. Arya became surly, Bran introspective, and Rickon... _Oh, Rickon._

Already a wild, unruly boy, Rickon had gone nearly native. Sansa tried to bring him to heel, but she was unable to control the boy. Mya and Roslin tried, and each bore bruised shins as a result. Something about his impudent face and immature confusion broke Mya's heart even more than the rest of the Starks did. He was so young, and unable to understand he might be losing his biggest brother. Try as she might, Mya was reminded of another little boy, one who’d never drawn breath and whose face she’d never seen. _He'd be four now, nearly._ The unbidden thought struck her as she was pulling on a sock and it nearly brought her to her knees. _No. It's over, it's done, you can't think about it. You can't think about it. You can't think about it._

Repeating the thought until her heart stopped pounding, she took a shaky breath. Roslin stirred, snorted, and rolled over, wedging herself against the wall and tugging the blankets over her head, and Mya stood. Buttoning the fly on her worn trousers, she squared her shoulders and left the bedroom.

The rest of the house, like Roslin, was sleeping. _Peacefully, hopefully. They deserve it._  Mya stepped over where Grey Wind lay stretched in front of the parlor door and out the kitchen door, fighting off a shiver at the damp morning air. Theon was waiting at the bottom of the porch stairs, leaning against the railing, arms crossed over his lean stomach. He didn’t say a word to Mya as she struggled to pull on her boots, and started for the barn as soon as she straightened. She trotted after him, hurriedly plaiting her hair.

“I’m sorry I overslept.”

“Said that already.” Theon hauled the barn door open and entered, glancing over his shoulder. “Now, first thing’s, we gotta let the horses out.” He stopped by the first stall, collecting a simple bridle and fitting it to the horse inside.

“Why do you even bring them in at night?” Mya stepped to the stall next to Theon and started undoing the latch. “It seems warm enough now.”

“Not that one.” Theon nodded at the horse inside, a large, plump pinto. “She’s due to foal any day now and we don’t want her out in the fields when that happens. And bringing them in at night cuts down on thieves. No smart thief is gonna strike during the day, right?”

“I s’pose not…” Mya chewed on her bottom lip. Theon had a gift, it seemed, of making her feel two inches tall most times he opened his mouth. He wasn’t the first person to do so, but for some reason whenever he did it it bothered Mya more. But she had another reason for her stomach knot. “You get a lot of that up here? Horse thieves?”

“Nah.” Theon led his horse down the barn aisle. “We hang the ones we get, though.”

Mya swallowed hard and tugged at the bridle on the fiery red horse she was now trying to cajole out of its stall. It was sleepy and stubborn, and determined to make itself a boulder. “Come on, you,” she muttered. Theon glanced over his shoulder and smirked, and Mya’s irritation with him started to bloom. “What?”

“You have to blindfold her.” Theon explained slowly, as if Mya was touched in the head. “Bitta doesn’t like to do what she’s told.” Patting his horse on the shoulder, he untied his kerchief from around his neck and handed it to her. “Here. Tie that on either side of the bridle over her eyes. It doesn’t have to go all the way ‘round her head. Make sure the knots are tight.”

“Bitta…” Mya repeated the name to herself as she bound the horse’s eyes, her fingers fumbling slightly under Theon’s scrutiny. “Odd name.”

“It’s short for Bittersweet.” Theon patted his horse on the rump. “Her dam died birthing her. She was a sweet old girl, too.”

There seemed to be a story behind each horse, and Theon knew them all. He rattled them off to Mya as each horse was led out, and for the first time since she’d met him Mya realized these creatures were something Theon actually cared about. It was heartening as she watched him talk about the horses, like she was seeing into some secret place Theon kept just for himself. She paused, wondering if he would keep talking.

He glanced over at her, dark hair hanging in his eyes. "What're you smiling at?" He asked suspiciously.

Mya touched her lips, unaware she'd been smiling at all. "I...nothing. It's just nice to hear you talk about the horses like that, is all. You sound happy when you do. Or not happy." She chewed her lower lip, thinking. "At ease." She wondered if he'd mock her or tease her for such a...well, a flowery thought. He seemed like the type of man who’d have nothing but scorn for most people.

But he didn’t, merely throwing his long frame into a knicked, old wooden chair by one of the stalls, crossing his legs at the ankles. When he spoke again his tone was closed off, curt as it always was. “Alright. Now, all those stalls need mucking out. Pitchfork’s on the wall in the tack room.”

Mya went to retrieve it, then hesitated. “There’s only one.”

“I know. I’m teachin’’.” Theon folded his arms and gave her a sharp smirk when she glared at him. “Now get to it. Ain’t got all day.”

By the time Mya finished mucking out the long row of stalls she was dripping with sweat, and her arm was throbbing. Swiping an arm across her forehead, she gripped the handles of her full wheelbarrow and tried to heft the waste outside, only to drop the wheels back to the ground as her arm again flared hot with pain. She clutched it, biting back a groan, and rubbed the thin, feeble limb. It was an annoyance, the weakness. It hurt to brush her hair, to clean her teeth, if she slept on it wrong...Mya knew Doc Luwin had said it would take time to build up strength again, but she had no time for patience.

At the end of the barn aisle Theon stood, stretching slightly, and ambled towards her. "What's wrong? Your arm still?"

Mya went to shake her head, but stopped. It'd be pointless to lie. " 's nothing. Just a little stiff, is all. Doc said it might be like that for a bit."

Theon sighed. “Fine, just leave the wheelbarrow there. I’ll take care of it. Gods know there ain’t like to be another homeless girl wanderin’ in to help me if you hurt yourself again too. C’mon. I want to see how you shoot.”

An hour later, it was determined that Mya shot poorly.

"No, here, watch me." Theon said irritably, snatching the .22 out of Mya's hands. "Now, you watching?" At her nod, he raised the butt of the gun to his shoulder, squinted at the line of tin cans he'd set up some 50 yards away as targets, and picked them off one by one.  "There. See what you're doing wrong? I'm going to go set them up again and then you do it. But don’t you _dare_ shoot that gun ‘less I’m standing right next t’you. Last thing I want is to get a rump full of buckshot. Understand?"

"No," Mya muttered, but only when Theon was out of earshot. Every time she aimed at the tin cans and missed, he scoffed and scowled and told her she was doing everything wrong, but not how to fix it. Mya may be a lousy shot, but Theon was a lousy teacher. He was short-tempered, rude, assuming...it just made Mya want to do better though. Or it made her want to give him that rump full of buckshot. She couldn’t decide, but  she knew she wanted to please him. Watching him stride back to her in an impatient huff, she wondered if she’d be able to.

"You got that reloaded?" He jerked his head at the gun, and Mya started out of her thoughts.

"Uh...not quite..."

Theon sighed and grabbed the gun away, loading it quickly and efficiently. "There. Now. There are five cans down on those fenceposts."

"I _can_ count, y'know."

His flint eyes were sharp as he glared at her. "I don't need any of your sass, girl. You’ve been shooting like you can’t damn well see."

Mya withered instantly under his gaze. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I just...can you show me how to hold the gun, at least? This is the first time I've ever had to shoot anything."

Heaving another sigh, Theon pushed his hair off his forehead and nodded once. "Fine. Here...turn your shoulders like this..." Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her this way and that, lining up her shoulders, then her hips, gripping them lightly, but firmly. It sent a jolt through her to have someone’s hands on her, even though it had been mere weeks since she’d been for sale. This was different, though. Theon didn’t want her; he merely wanted to teach her. "There. Now. Put the butt of the gun against your shoulder like this, and hold it steady. You right or left-handed?"

"Left, but don't tell my old schoolmaster. Said left-handedness was the product of the Stranger."

Theon snorted under his breath and switched her hands around. "Stranger. Please. You’re ‘bout as dangerous as stale bread. There. Now, see that bead at the end of the barrel? Aim that right at the can and then just squeeze the trigger."

Mya tried to do as she was told, but her arm was trembling and the gun seemed so heavy. She took a deep, steadying breath, inhaling the scent of grass and leather, this morning's coffee and some unidentifiable musk, and squinted down the barrel. Her vision blurred for an instant, and when it cleared she squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked back against her shoulder, driving her back against Theon's chest. He stumbled and with a harsh curse grabbed her waist to keep them both from tumbling backwards .

Squinting down at the far end of the garden, Mya laughed delightedly. The can she’d aimed at was laying in a clump of Mrs. Stark’s tomato plants with a noticeable dent in the side. “I hit it!”

Theon released her waist slowly, not quite meeting her gaze. “Winged it, more like.”

The little bubble of excitement in Mya’s chest popped. “I got close, at least.”

“Close,” Theon agreed, and took the gun from her. “That’s enough of that though. You can practice more later. We’ve gotta ride out and get the herd from one field t’the next. Let’s go saddle up.”

He started towards the horse’s pasture and whistled sharply. At the far end of the field Mya saw the long, elegant head of a blood bay perk up, and his stallion cantered towards the fence. He really was a magnificent creature, Mya decided. Not that she knew that much about magnificent creatures or beauty, let alone how horses were supposed to look. But with his rippling chocolate coat and flowing black mane, he looked picture perfect to her.

Her old stolen gelding Fatty, on the other hand...Mya sighed. As far as she could tell, Fatty was supposed to be a strawberry roan, with a rich red and white flecked coat. The only problem was that he had a habit of rolling in the dusty patches of the field, every day. In addition to being swayback, dirty, and now overweight, he was knock-kneed, and he snapped at the farrier every time the man tried to file down his hooves. Right now, he was contentedly rubbing his rump on a fence post under one of the sprawling oaks that dotted the landscape. She cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Fatty! C’mere, you! C’mon!”

The horse, predictably, ignored her. Mya had known he would: he didn’t know his name, after all. She bit her lip again and glanced over at Theon, who was attaching a lead to  Smiler’s bridle. He was watching and looked amused. When Mya went to call Fatty again he shook his head, leading his stallion instead to her.

“Forget taking that old heap. I checked his teeth - he’s gotta be twenty years old if he’s a day. Any more hard riding’ll do him in. Didn’t you know that?”

“I…” Mya swallowed. She didn’t know the first thing about Fatty other than the fact that he was the first horse she’d seen when she’d fled the brothel who was still saddled up. Feeling like she was edging into dangerous territory, she just shook her head. “I didn’t know.”

“You’re damn lucky your ride up from King’s Landing didn’t kill him. He was in terrible shape when he got up here-”

“So was I!” Mya interjected.

“Worse than you.” Theon was glowering now and Mya, again, withered. “Missing two shoes, a cracked hoof, his tail was so matted I damn near cut it off, he was wormy, dehydrated-”

“We had a hard ride up. You know that!”

“This wasn’t from a hard ride.” Theon took a step towards her, suddenly seeming much taller in his anger. “This was from years of neglect.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded small. “I wasn’t...someone else was taking care of him. I guess they weren’t very good at it.” It wasn’t _entirely_ a lie, but all it did was make Theon’s gaze sharpen with suspicion. She cleared her throat and tried to change the subject. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Theon looked away, still visibly angry, and spat on the ground. “Robb told me not to. Said you had enough to deal with. I told him it was bullshit but-” he shook his head abruptly, and they were silent for a moment while Mya thought.

“Now that my arm’s better, I’ll take better care of him. Can...can you show me how?” When he didn’t answer right away, she reached out and touched his arm. His skin was hotter than she expected and for a moment she didn’t want to let go. “I just want to make sure I do it right. He deserves better than what he’s gotten from me. And you know what you’re doing.”

Heaving a huge sigh, Theon scrubbed a hand over his face. “Godsdammit. Fine. I’ll show you when we get back.”

Mya beamed at him. “Thank you. I mean it.” Theon merely grunted. “So if I’m not riding him, who’m I using?”

Theon scanned the field, dotted with horses, shielding his eyes with a hand, and nodded to where a gleaming black horse was grazing. “That one there. Midnight. She’s Robb’s, so she knows the land. She’s sure-footed, and gentle enough for you.” He gave another whistle, a different one than the one that had called Smiler, and Midnight trotted smoothly towards them.

“Do they all have their own whistles?” Mya asked.

“All the ones I trained.” Theon handed her a second bridle and nodded towards Midnight. “Rope ‘er and bring ‘er in.”

Midnight was a taller horse than Fatty, and Theon glanced over at Mya as they mounted up outside the barn. He had a length of rope tied into a lasso at his hip, and was screwing the cap on a leather canteen that would be tucked into his saddlebag. Mya pretended not to notice as his eyes slid over her body, but her stomach gave a queasy, fluttery twist. She'd grown up with men staring at her, but Theon's gaze was different. It seemed to go straight through her. “Well, you don’t have the _worst_ seat I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment,” Mya replied dryly. Of course he was looking for something to critique her on. “Who was the worst?”

“Sansa.” Theon wheeled Smiler around and nudged him into a trot, heading for a rutted path into the woods. “She was twelve before she could get on a horse without winding up backwards.”

The day had warmed considerably since the cool morning, and the ride through the open fields was easy and smooth. Midnight followed Smiler’s lead, easing into a canter and Mya gripped the reins hard, trying to look as comfortable in her saddle as Theon did. As they approached a small copse of trees, he slowed Smiler to a trot. “We’re nearly there. Just through the woods here-” A quiet bird call interrupted him, strong but soft at the same time. Theon spun in his seat, his jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed, sharpened and he rested a hand on the butt of his rifle. The call came again and this time Mya saw Theon’s pulse leap in his throat.

“It’s just a-” Mya started, but Theon silenced her with a glare. He opened his mouth to respond but before he could there was a crack, and a rustle, and a bush on the side of the narrow path exploded as a bird burst forth from it. Mya jumped, her heart in her throat, but Theon merely slumped a little, as if a fight had suddenly gone out of him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and Mya was surprised to see it was shaking.

She maneuvered her horse over to his, her eyebrows knit together, and touched his arm. “Are you alright?”

He jerked his arm away, his eyes closed as he took a breath. “Fine. It was just a bird.” He exhaled and seemed to collect himself, nudging Smiler forward. “It was just a godsdamn bird.”

Mya stared as he continued down the trail, his shoulders slumped. _What was_ that? Midnight snorted, tugging at the reins, and startled Mya out of her thoughts. “Go on.” She gave the horse a gentle kick and they were off again.

Theon kept Strider at a steady canter until they reached the pasture, the horse’s strong legs churning up the trail. Midnight kept up with the stallion easily, and didn’t seem to need Mya to steer her that much. The pasture was large and green, rolling hills rising up to meet the soft spring sky, the grass waving in the wind. Innumerable cattle dotted the field, all placidly grazing. A few calves romped here and there, none too far from their mothers. Theon reined Smiler to a halt and reached into his saddlebag, pulling out the canteen and taking a long pull on it before offering it to Mya. The water inside was warm, but she didn't realize how parched she'd gotten until it hit her throat.

"Easy." Theon reached over took it back from her after a moment. "That's gotta last us all day."

"Sorry." Mya swiped her sleeve across her lips, slightly abashed. She cleared her throat. "So...we're moving cows?"

"Herding cattle. And you just do what I tell you, understand?" Theon tucked the canteen away and patted Smiler's neck. "I'd wait until Robb was better before doing this, but he won't be able to ride for weeks. Months, maybe."

"So he's doing better?" The wind was tugging Mya's hair out of her braid, and she tried to tuck it behind her ear. It proved fruitless, though. She hadn't been allowed to see more than a peek of Robb since he'd been attacked, on Doc Luwin's orders. Instead she'd done what she could around the house, helping Roslin see to meals, taking care of Bran, Rickon and Arya while Mrs. Stark would sit with her eldest son.

"He's not dead," Theon replied shortly. "That's all I know. That’s all they’ll _let_ me know.  Now, what I want you to do is ride to the far end of the field and divide the herd in two..." Theon barked out a long string of complicated-sounding orders. Mya listened, or tried to. She saw his lips moving, heard his voice, but his words made no sense to her. Finally he stopped. "Understand all that?"

Mya swallowed hard. "I...uh...yes sir."

Theon blinked at the 'sir', but he sat a little straighter and Mya thought he may have liked it. "Then get to it."

_Oh no_. Biting her lower lip, Mya dug her heels into Midnight's side. By some miracle or another, the mare broke into her steady trot, and Mya headed for the far end of the field. She tried to remember what Theon's directions were, but they were all garbled in her head. She could see him waiting at the opposite end, and that he was impatient. He wasn't moving, and if he was talking she certainly could not hear him, but Theon had been irritated with her since that stormy night they'd met; why should that change now?

"Alright, cows," she muttered. "You've done this more than I have."

She and Midnight started forward, trying to divide the herd, but they were having none of it. Hundreds of liquid dark eyes stared balefully at her as she rode between them. Countless mouths chewed their cud, and occasionally a tail would flick a fly away. Other than that, she may as well have not even been there.

"C'mon, move!" Mya pleaded. She could see Theon gesturing angrily to her, and she sighed. "I hope you're all steaks by the year's end."

"What in the seven _hells_ are you doing?" Theon barked at her when she got into earshot. "Weren't you listening at all?"

"I was but I've never done this before! You're giving me all these orders and I haven't a clue what you're saying!" Mya bit back, eyes welling with frustration. " _I'm trying_."

Theon rolled his eyes. "Then why don't you--" He stopped suddenly, cocking his head towards the woods behind them.

"What is it, another bird?" Mya groused, but she heard it now too. Approaching hoofbeats...

A shape moved through the woods, and as Theon reached for his gun it burst into the sunlight. It took Mya a moment to reconcile it -- it was young Bran, hunched over the neck of his pudgy dappled pony, which had been ridden to the point of frothing.

"Theon!" Bran's voice was shrill as he heeled his pony towards them.

"What is it, kid?" Theon tucked the gun away. "Your ma know you're out this far on your own?"

"Uh-huh." Bran's cheeks were red, his auburn hair a mess. "She sent me. Miss Ellie and Miss Margaery are back at the house and Ma wants you to come back."

"Hellfire..." Theon scowled at the cattle, then back at Bran. "Ellie can wait. Tell Sansa to keep her entertained."

"That's not why Ma wants you."

"Dammit, Bran, stop wastin' my time. Alice here's done plenty of that. Just tell me what your ma wants."

Mya looked back and forth between Theon and Brann, and the boy's eyes were so piercingly blue, his face suddenly so old. He sat up straighter on his pony. "Robb's awake."

For an instant Theon looked somewhere between overwhelming relief and fear. His mouth opened, then shut. He stared at Bran a moment longer, then without another word he drove his heels into Smiler's sides and wheeled in the direction of Winterfell.


	7. Chapter 7

The only light in the parlor was coming from the gas lamp on the table next to the davenport where Robb lay, and the air was still thick and sickly. The only thing that had changed was that Robb was awake, propped up on several pillows. Theon stood in the doorway, nervous. Robb was pale, obviously weak, but his eyes were still piercing and full of questions. Theon licked his chapped lips.

“C’mere.”Robb’s voice was dry. “Shut that door.”

Theon pulled the ottoman up next to the davenport. His stomach was twisting and he felt sick; he knew what was coming. “You look like shit.”

Robb gave him a look. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and after a minute of silence he spoke again. “What were you doin’ out there, Theon?”

“I-” Theon’s voice cracked. He swallowed. _Are you 12 again? Gods above._ “I think you know what I was doin’.”

“That was a _Wildling_ , Theon. I thought you knew better.”

Robb’s tone was rife with disappointment.Theon had to look away. Any excuse he could come up with sounded feeble and juvenile. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Oh for the gods’ sake.” Robb turned his head, and Theon imagined if Robb had been stronger he would’ve thrown his hands up in frustration. “Do you have any idea how stupid you’ve been? You’ve put this entire homestead in danger, my entire family. Hells, the entire _town_. And for what, a few hours of sin with an outlaw Wildling?"

Theon stood abruptly, anger flaring white in him. "She's more than that! She-" His throat closed suddenly, and he had to force himself to take a breath. "She was more than that."

Robb slowly pushed himself up on an elbow, grimacing. "What're you sayin', Greyjoy? How long had you been carryin' on?"

The months bled together in Theon's head as he tried to count, and he slumped back onto the ottoman. "Six months. Seven. I lost count."

" _Seven months?_ " Robb's expression was incredulous. "Son of a _bitch_ , Theon. D'you know how much she could've learned about us, about our patterns? She could've gone back and told her entire tribe where and when and how to strike us. Do you-" He broke off into a fit of coughing, falling back on his pillows as sweat started to bead on his forehead. "Gods almighty."

Not knowing what else to do, Theon wiped his sleeve across Robb's forehead. "I know it was stupid. But she wouldn't come after the ranch, or the town. She-" He paused, thinking. Ygritte _wouldn't_ have come after the ranch...before he'd cast her off. She'd been furious though, spurned and scorned and capable of anything. He shifted on the ottoman, his guts suddenly running hot. Theon didn't know how big Ygritte's tribe was, but he did know from the stories she'd told him that the man who raised her was a chieftain, and she was his only daughter. If she was mad enough, if she hurt as much as he did...Theon swallowed.

"She won't come after us." His words sounded feeble and strangled. Robb was quiet for a long time, long enough that Theon thought he may've fallen asleep. Finally, he sighed and gazed at Theon, and Theon couldn't stand the sympathy and pity there. He'd never been able to. "You gonna tell your ma?"

"Theon..." Robb raised a hand to his face and rubbed his fingers over his red and wiry beard. "I...I won't tell her. Not all of it. But I'll tell her to call my pa and Jon back from the Wall-"

"-she's already tried that."

"-and see if she can have some of the Sherrif's boys come out from town every so often. But you've gotta take care of this, Theon. I mean it. I don't care how.  And..." Robb waved a hand vaguely in Theon's direction. "Do it with your britches on. You’re ‘bout to be a married man. It’s high time you reined yourself in.”

An authoritative knock on the door prevented Theon from responding. Doc Luwin poked his head in, smiling when he saw Robb was awake. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Jeyne was at his shoulder, practically pawing at the older man to move so she could get to her fiance. “Excellent. Theon, would you mind giving us the room?” said the doctor.

Theon hesitated. He’d managed to avoid Ellie by coming in the kitchen door, but he knew she had his scent by now. _Especially if Margie’s with her…_. Biting back a resigned sigh, he nodded. “You take care of him, Doc.”

Jeyne shut the door after she and Doc Luwin entered. For a moment Theon stood in the hallway, trying to gather himself. He could hear Ellie and Margaery in the sitting room, talking animatedly with Sansa. _Just make an excuse and get out of there_. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. Ellie was on him in an instant, wrapping her arms around his neck. The smell of her perfume was overwhelming - strong and flowery enough that he could almost taste it. Over her shoulder, Theon saw Margaery smirk and resisted the urge to make a rude gesture at her.

“Oh, Theon, isn’t it wonderful that Robb’s awake?” she gushed. “Jeynie and I and Margie were talking and we had the most wonderful idea.” Pulling back, she looked up at him excitedly and pulled him further into the room. Her palms were sweaty. Not that Theon could complain, he supposed; he’d spent the day working in the barn and riding out on the range and probably smelled like the southbound end of a northbound donkey. _Well. You were watching Alice work in the barn, anyway_. He smirked, thinking about the irritated way her lips had pressed together as he'd ordered her around. He wondered if she always held her tongue when she was mad. He hoped so. It'd making working with her a lot more tolerable.

“Don’t you want to know?” Ellie’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“What? Oh. Sure.” Theon spied Sansa smiling behind her hand and he shot her a glare. _I’m still the town joke. I’ll always be the town joke._

“A double wedding! You and me and Jeyne and Robb’ll all get married at once!” Ellie smiled widely, clearly euphoric at the thought.

A dull buzz started in Theon’s head. “That’s in 3 months.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Margaery replied from her armchair. Her smile was knowing and smug and Theon wanted to punch it straight off her pretty face. Everyone in the room, hells, everyone in the _town_ knew Theon would rather lose a foot by his own hand rather than marry Ellie. “Septon Chayle already said he’d do it. We came straight from talkin’ to him. The entire town’ll already be invited to Robb and Jeyne’s wedding, may as well hop on their wagon.”

“It’ll be perfect.” Ellie’s expression was dreamy. Theon disentangled himself from her. “Just think of it - a double wedding, and of course we’ll start a family straight away. By this time next year you’ll be a father!”

The buzz grew louder. Theon took a step back. His legs felt strangely hollow, and he nearly stumbled. “That’s...uh...I...I gotta see to Smiler.”

Before Ellie could respond he backed out of the sitting room, leaning heavily on the wall. He braced his palms on his thighs, trying to force himself to breathe, to still the noise in his head. Inside the room, the girls were still talking and it was the sound of their voices that kept him from keeling over on the floor.

“Ellie, you’ve got to ease up on him a little,” Margaery was saying. “Did you see how grey he turned when you mentioned kids?”

“I know,” Ellie replied, “but I’m just excited to be married, I s’pose.”

“He’s not." Margaery sounded amused. "Is he, Sansa."

"Oh, I wouldn't-" Sansa stammered. "I mean, he's hard to...men are funny like that."

"They are." Theon could practically see Margaery's sage, cat-like grin. "I'd bet he's one of the funniest of them all." There was a rustle of fabric, one of the girls leaning forward maybe. "You're not worried about his...proclivities, are you?"

Theon knew at once what she was talking about. He'd spent his adolescent years and young adulthood so far with his chest puffed out, ignoring the reputation he had at the brothels in the area. Everyone knew how often he frequented them. It was just unmentioned, for the most part. He never acknowledged any of the girls when he saw them on the street, would never even give them the time of day. They were just whores, and frankly, he wasn't sure why he should have to stop. No one was getting hurt.

In the sitting room Ellie cleared her throat, a delicate little cough. "I'm not. He'll stop all that once we're married."

Margaery laughed again. "Oh, honey, how're you gonna get him to do that? Chain him to the bedpost? He's a man, and men like him have needs. More needs than you can handle. At first, anyway."

"I'll...I'll just tell him to stop." Ellie's voice sounded tremulous. "And if he won't listen to me, I'll have Papa go down and tell the brothel girls to not...not entertain him."

Theon had heard enough. He stormed down the hallway to the kitchen, not caring if the girls heard him or not. Bran was entering the kitchen from the porch, his cheeks flushed from his ride back from the fields. His smile faltered when he saw Theon's expression.

"Smiler's in the barn," he said at once.  Bran had a knack for answering questions before they were asked. It had always spooked Theon, but right now he was too angry to notice the goosebumps rising on his arms. "Alice is lookin' after him. I figure you were in a hurry to see Robb, which is why you just sorta left him. Right?"

Theon just grunted and brushed past the boy. Smiler deserved better than to be ridden hard and put away wet like he had been. The thought of Alice's inexperienced hands on his stallion just made it worse. Pushing the barn door open roughly, he glowered at the sight presented to him. Alice had removed Smiler’s saddle, a fine piece of leatherwork Theon had paid for with his own wages, slung casually over a stall door. His bridle was hanging from a bent nail in the wall.

Smiler stood in the middle of the aisle, tail swishing, while Alice knelt on the dirt floor, poking through a grooming kit. Theon watched her for a moment, gritting his teeth when she pulled out a stiff-bristled brush and started sweeping it across Smiler’s broad back. She smiled to herself, clearly pleased, and didn’t hear him approach.

“What d’you think you’re doing?” Theon didn’t make any attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. He was pleased when Alice’s smile slid away.

“I was gonna groom him.” The brush in her hand hovered a few inches over his stallion’s back. She brushed a lock of black hair out of her face, whatever confidence she had faltering. “Him, then Midnight.”

“No.” Theon grabbed the brush from her, a protective hand on Smiler’s neck. “You don’t do that. You never touch another man’s horse.” That wasn’t _entirely_ true - Theon had let Robb tend to Smiler dozens of times. But Alice wasn’t Robb. She wasn’t even close.

“I’m sorry.” Alice’s voice was small, and she backed away from him. “After what you said about Fatty this morning I was just trying to help.”

_She’s still scared of me,_ Theon realized, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Although, could he really blame her? Every time he’d spoken to her practically since she’d arrived he’d been in a bad mood and his words had been harsh, if not worse. He tried to take a deep breath, tried to forget about Ygritte, Robb’s words, the increasingly heavy weight of Ellie and their marriage...it didn’t work. When he exhaled he was still hot with anger. Part of him wanted nothing more than to race into town and fuck a whore until she begged him to stop, and then some. If Ellie kept her promise his days with the town girls were numbered. The thought made him feel sick. Anyone who tried to exert their will over Theon made him feel sick, especially that empty-headed child he was to wed. He worked at the Stark ranch because he liked it, trained and broke their horses because he was good at it. Not because anyone told him to.

Alice was still staring mutely at him, a swipe of dirt across her cheek. Theon stared back, and wanted Robb to heal more than anything. They were sympatico and had been for years. Whether they were riding or working they were able to predict the other’s move every single time. Having to explain and talk to Alice was harder than Theon had thought it would be. He couldn't grasp why she didn’t just instinctively know what to do. _She’s not Robb. She’ll never be Robb._

And now she was talking again. Theon blinked. “Huh?”

“I asked if I could watch, so I can learn how to do it,” she repeated patiently.

Theon sighed, shaking his head distractedly. “Nah. Here…” He stooped down and picked up a ratty old currycomb from the grooming kit. “You start with this one. Start at the top of his neck, in circles, like this.” He worked his way down Smiler’s neck. “He likes it if you go a little harder.”

Alice’s lips twitched in a small smile. “That so?”

“Yes ma’am.”

As Theon groomed Smiler he felt some of his anger starting to dissipate, if only a little. Being here in the stables had that effect on him - the horses, at least, didn’t feel the need to order him around. _Neither does Alice, for that matter. Maybe she ain’t that dumb_.

Once Smiler’s neck was done, he handed the currycomb to Alice. “Here. Put it on your hand like this…” He took her thin hand and adjusted the worn strap on the currycomb. Her hands were long, he noticed, her fingers as long as his, but the bones were fine and delicate. _Like birds. Ygritte’s were small...small and rough and strong_. He cleared his throat. “How’s that feel? Not too tight?” Alice shook her head. “Good. Just like I told you, then.”

He leaned against another stall, watching as Alice groomed his horse and resisting the urge to correct her. _She’s gotta learn. And she’s not doin’ half bad, really_.  Glancing into the stall he was leaning against, he frowned. Senecca, the heavily pregnant pinto, was pacing her stall, snorting, her large head occasionally swinging around so she could nuzzle at her flanks. “It’s that time, ain’t it, girl?”

“Hmm?” Alice glanced over Smiler’s back. “What’s wrong?”

Before Theon could answer, a bell started clanging loudly from outside the barn, hardly audible over a shrill voice. “Supper’s on!”

“Gods almighty, Arya…” Theon shook his head. The girl had a voice that could carry from the Last Hearth to Dorne. He looked again at Alice  and realized with a small jolt neither of them had eaten today. He hadn’t thought to pack a dinner for himself, much less Alice. Food had fallen further and further in his list of priorities.

“Go on up to the house and eat,” he told her. “Senecca’s lookin’ to foal real soon now, and I want to stay with her since it’s her first.”

“You sure?” Alice was already setting the brush down, and Theon could nearly see her stomach rumbling. At his nod she practically ran out of the stable, leaving Theon in blessed silence once again. Senecca likely wouldn’t give birth till the early morning hours at this rate and the only thing stopping Theon from going up to the house and enjoying Cat Stark’s fried chicken was the presence of his fiancé and her damnable cousin.

Their wedding had seemed like a hazy grey eventuality, something that Theon had known would happen someday. Someday, not in 3 months’ time… The worst part was that after the wedding he’d be forced to leave the ranch, leave the open range. He was expected to be taken under the Tyrells’ collective wing and learn the shopkeeper trade, to live in town. The thought crashed over him as it had many times before, and Theon suddenly couldn’t breathe. Wrapping his fingers in Smiler’s mane, he buried his face in his horse’s neck and screwed his eyes shut. His heart was pounding, his stomach clenching. His fate had been yanked out of his hands - he had no control, he couldn’t make any choices, everything had been laid out for him.  He was a godsdamned puppet.

There was no way out, and Theon knew it. He might’ve been able to flee with Ygritte, seek refuge with her people, but not now. He had burned that bridge, and thoroughly. If he stayed south of the Northern Range he’d be a coward, and his family would spurn him. Hells , they might even arrange for him to meet an accident somewhere along the way just to save themselves the shame. Maybe he should just do it himself, spare them the trouble. _It’d be easy. Balon and your uncles could go on robbing the stagecoaches and trains and Ellie could marry a man who can stand the sight of her. You’ve got your gun. It’d be easy…_

_It’s the coward’s way out._ The thought came in a voice that was an odd mix of Robb, Ned Stark, and Theon’s father. _You gave your word and you’re going to see it through._

The vice in Theon’s chest loosened and gave way to a heavy deadness. _I’ll see it through._ His fingers tightened in Smiler’s mane, and the horse craned his head around to nudge his shoulder.

“Alright, boy,” Theon said quietly. “Alright.”

It was an easy task to finish grooming Smiler, then Midnight, and once it was done Theon turned his attention to his laboring mare. Slipping a soft bridle over her face, he took his time walking her up and down the aisle. It seemed to help calm both of them, and he patted her neck after some time. “You’ll be fine, girl. Once this is all said and done you’ll be a mother, and a good one at that.”

_By this time next year you’ll be a father!_ Ellie’s voice rang in his head and Theon gripped Senecca’s lead with white knuckles.

They continued to walk as the sun started to set, the horse occasionally stopping to nuzzle at her side. When the barn door creaked open, Theon took a breath, expecting Ellie to have hunted him down to natter on about their wedding again. When the nattering didn't come, he glanced over his shoulder and felt an immediate rush of relief. It was just Alice, her face scrubbed shiny, her hair combed, and dressed in an old yellow dress of Sansa’s. It was a little blousy on top, but Sansa had a fuller bust than Alice did. The color looked far better on her than it ever had on Sansa. Her black hair contrasted nicely with it, and if Theon cared a whit about women’s clothes he would have approved. Alice held a tin bucket in her hand. She took a cautious step forward, clearly reading his dour expression. “I brought you supper…”

“Oh...thanks.” Theon led Senecca over and peeked in the bucket. It was filled with fried chicken, biscuits, bacon, a bowl of baked beans wrapped in a cloth, and several slices of Sansa’s homemade apple pie. His mouth began to water at the scent; he realized he was famished.

"I didn't know what you'd like," Alice was saying. Her voice was so much quieter than Ellie's, and not as rough as Ygritte’s. It made hearing it easier to bear. "I just grabbed what I could from Arya and Rickon."

That made Theon smile. "They're savages when it comes to supper. This is good though. Thank you."

Alice seemed pleased with this and nodded at Senecca. "Let me walk her. You sit.  Eat."

Theon reclined against a hay bale, tearing into a chicken thigh and watching Alice walk the long aisle with Senecca. Wiping crumbs off his lips he nodded at her dress. “Why’d you change?”

Alice looked down at her dress somewhat sheepishly. “Mrs. Stark made me wash up before she’d let me eat.”

Theon chuckled. “She would. We’ll have to find you some more suitable clothes, though.”

“Oh, Arya sassed her sister so she’s washing mine tonight as punishment. Yours too, ‘f you give them to her.” She raised an eyebrow, amused as Theon devoured another plump chicken leg, then attacked the baked beans with a fresh biscuit, sopping up the sweet molasses they were soaked in. “Ellie and Margaery wanted to come down after we were done.”

The molasses turned sour in Theon’s mouth. “Are they?”

“No.” Alice shook her head. “I told them it was gettin’ real messy down here and they’d get their petticoats dirty.” She paused. “Not sure Margaery believed me, but it seemed to scare Ellie off well enough.”

“You lied to my fiancé?”

He saw her lips press together just a tiny bit as if she was bracing herself for another lecture from him. “I did. I’ve seen you two together. Every time you look at her you look like you want to throw yourself in front of a train.”

Theon leaned back and regarded her for a solid minute, crumbling bacon onto another biscuit without looking. He knew he should feel anger at her again but...she had a point. And she was doing him a favor. _And she brought you dinner._ Plus, he was getting so tired of being angry. Heaving a sigh, he offered her the dinner pail. “‘spose it’s no big secret. Have some pie.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Looping Senecca’s lead around a stall post, Alice swept her skirt underneath her and perched on the bale of hay he was sitting against. Her leg brushed against his arm, and even through the fabric of her skirt and whatever petticoats Sansa had cajoled her into, he could feel its slenderness. For a fleeting moment it reminded him of the girls in town, how easily it was to get them to wrap their legs around him. _For now. Those days’re numbered._

They ate in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. “Why’re you marrying her? Robb said you-”

“You asked Robb?” Theon craned his head around to look up at her. “I hate when folks talk about me behind me back. _Hate_ it.”

“We weren’t _talking_ about you.” Alice sucked a bit of apple pie off her thumb. “I was just curious.”

“‘s none of your business.” Theon turned his attention back to his food.

“Fine. I’m sorry.” She just sounded weary now. “I asked him last week when we were in town. I just didn’t think about it till now.”

Theon didn’t want to hear any more about the day they were in town. “Alright, get back to walkin’ that mare. It helps the process along.” Hauling himself back to his feet, Theon stretched. “I’ll see to the rest of the horses. It’s almost dark.” He was almost to the barn door when she called his name. When he turned to look, she had paused in the middle of an aisle. Sunlight spilled in an open window, orange and blazing as it edged towards the horizon. It caught off her dark hair, playing up the glow in her cheeks and make her eyes light up. For half a second Theon could understand how Robb had at least temporarily gone all moon-eyed over her, and in the next heartbeat he was seeing Ygritte standing in their clearing, her hair sunlit fire, her laugh echoing. He had to swallow before he could speak. “What?”

Alice opened her mouth to speak, shut it, and tried again. “I _am_ sorry.”

Her tone was sad, her words heavy with a deeper meaning. Theon’s throat closed, and in his mind’s eye he saw himself and Ygritte, riding free across the plains beyond the Northern range, coupling under the autumn moon. For an instant his skin flushed, remembering the heat of her body against his and it almost broke him.

“Yeah,” he replied tightly. “Me too.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

The parlor was feeling smaller and smaller every day, and Robb felt like he was going mad. His brothers and sisters would visit him throughout the day, and the Frey schoolteacher had offered him use of her books to stave off the boredom, and all the while Jeyne or his mother would hover; he was her oldest, the one she'd always worry about the most.

Right now, though, he was alone. Jeyne had gone back to town to rest. The children were outside, and his mother had gone to call on Miss Dacey and Jory. Robb had read the penny novels Roslin had lent him, and his hand felt raw from stroking Grey Wind's head. He'd memorized the grain of the beams of wood running along the ceiling, and he was about to scream from boredom.

Finally, three days after he woke up, he’d had enough. Forcing himself to sit up, he grit his teeth and gripped the arm of the sofa. His feet felt rubbery and thick when he set them on the ground, and his legs felt wobbly and hollow. By the time he straightened, a fine sheen of sweat covered his face. Still holding onto the couch with one hand, he reached over and pushed the window open. From here he could see the horse pasture, the thriving garden, the purple smudge of mountains on the far northern horizon.

Robb gazed out over the pasture. Midnight and Smiler were missing, as they usually were. Only now it was Alice riding his horse, doing his work. Just last Thursday she'd helped deliver Senecca's foal, a bold, sweet, black filly named Whisper. Robb had no idea how she was able to work with Theon, but according to Sansa and Roslin, she was up every morning at dawn with no complaints  and returned by dusk every night. He'd asked Theon a few nights previous what he thought of her, and his oldest friend had shrugged.

"Ain't doin' bad, but she's still got a lot to learn." Theon slumped back in the chintz armchair across from Robb's davenport. "She ain't...born to this." His grey eyes flicked to Robb's and the words went unspoken. _She ain't you_.

"Give her a chance." Robb had said. "You an' I've been at this for years. She's only had a few weeks. Less than that." He scowled, scratched at his beard. "Hate this damn thing. How's the land? Anything unusual out there?"

Theon shook his head. In the low lamplight, Robb realized how hollow he looked. He'd lost weight, and there were heavy bags under his eyes. He swallowed, and when he spoke his voice was raw. "Just come out and ask, Robb. I ain't seen her. Yg- the Wildling woman. I told you, she's gone."  

Robb just nodded. Theon had always kept himself closed and locked tight, but Robb had been around him long enough to find little chinks in his armor, ways to tell he was hurt. And he was hurting now. He'd never been close to anyone, never had many friends or acquaintances. The loss of the Wildling woman was digging deep into him.For a moment, Robb felt bad for forcing the issue. Outside of the parlor he heard childish laughter, running feet. _They're why I did it. To keep them safe. It's what Pa would do_.

He cleared his throat, casting around for another topic. "So, Alice treatin' Midnight alright?"

Theon snorted. "Caught her fuckin' _singing_ to the horse while she was grooming 'er last night. Some bawdy bar tune. She turned pink as a whore's cunt when she saw me."

"Poor thing." Robb grinned. "I hope you're bein' nice to her, Theon."

"I am, I am." Theon scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering something.

"What?"

"She makes me lunch now." Theon's expression was carefully arranged, but Robb thought he looked pleased. "And she makes sure I eat it all too. 's like having your mother riding out with me every day."

"Don't get used to that. Soon as I can I'm back out there with you and you're packin' your own lunch, buster."

"You think she'll leave then?" Theon was picking at a bit of dirt lodged under his nails.

Robb shrugged. "Dunno. Wouldn't mind if she stayed on. The kids like her. Ma likes her. We could always use an extra hand." He looked carefully at his friend. "You haven't heard why she was on the run, have you?"

Theon shook his head. "Haven't asked. She stays out of my business, I stay out of hers.” He stood, brushing his trousers off. “I’m gonna go down to the saloon.”

“Play a round of poker for me.”

“Please. I’d like to come back with some coin, thank you.”

Now, it hurt to stand. The pain radiated through the bottoms of his feet through the top, up through his ankles, but it was a good hurt. Robb pressed his toes against the floor, baring his teeth at the flares of pain that shot up through them. Standing hurt, and walking was nearly impossible, but after several long minutes he was able to ease himself into one of the old rocking chairs on the back porch. His bones creaked in protest, but he ignored them. The air was sweet and the sunlight warm, and the soft breeze tickled his skin. He rubbed at his beard, irritated at the pain in his right shoulder that kept him from holding a razor steady enough to shave.

“Robb!” From the yard Rickon’s voice piped up, and he sprinted towards his big brother. “You’re alive!”

Robb saw Rickon flinging himself toward him and realized too late he was about to catch him full in the gut. “Rickon, no-”

Right as the boy sprang towards Robb a pair of arms caught Rickon and swooped him away in a flash of red fabric. “Easy there, cowboy!”

Roslin, the Frey schoolteacher, was exiting the house at the same time Rickon was taking flight and had managed to catch him. Showing surprising strength, she tossed the boy over her shoulder with a laugh, drawing a whoop from him. "Make me fly, Miss Rosie!"

"Not so soon after lunch, there." Roslin set Rickon back on his feet, both their cheeks flushed, and brushed his wiry auburn hair out of his eyes. "You can't go jumping on your brother like that so soon, honey. He's not feeling well enough." She glanced over at Robb and blinked before hurriedly glancing away. "Right?"

"Uh...yes ma'am." Robb felt suddenly foolish and exposed as he realized he wasn't dressed in anything other than his red union suit. _If Ma were here she'd have your hide_. "It's cool out here, Rickon, go on and fetch me a blanket, would you?"

"But you're sweating, and your face is all red," Rickon replied.

"Just do what I'm tellin' you, boy, less you want a switchin'." It was an empty threat; Robb could barely stand, but the four-year-old didn't know any better. His blue eyes widened slightly and he skittered inside the house. The screen door squealed as it shut. Roslin didn’t know where to look. Rob cleared his throat. "I hope you like it out here. I know a lot's happened since you came and I...I just hope you're comfortable."

Roslin glanced at him, smiling shyly, before looking away. "I'm just fine. I come from a big family and someone's always shooting someone else or getting stuck in a bear trap or something like that."

It was Robb's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Bear traps?"

Before the girl could respond the back door squealed again. "Robb, lookit! Lookit who’s home!" Rickon was shouting. Robb looked, and his jaw dropped.

"Pa..."

Ned Stark filled the doorframe, Rickon clinging to him. He looked haggard and dusty, as if he’d ridden for days on end. Robb struggled to his feet as Ned set Rickon down. His father took a step towards him, his grey eyes flicking over his firstborn, as if reassuring himself that Robb was alive and standing before him.

“Your mother sent letters. It took them a long while to hunt Jon and I down. We rode as soon as we heard. I feared the worst, Robb.”

“I’m sorry.” Robb wasn’t exactly sure why he was apologizing, but it seemed like the right thing to do. “Ma and Jeynie’ve been with me since it happened. I talked her into going to see Miss Dacey and Jory today-”

Ned shook his head, cutting Robb off. “She said it was a Wildling ambush.”

“It wasn’t an ambush, not really. It was just…” Robb swallowed. He knew he should tell his father the truth, _all_ of it. But what if his father sent Theon away? Worse yet, what if he punished Theon somehow? That could bring the wrath of the Greyjoys, Theon’s true family, and Robb didn’t want to think about consequences of _that_. He swallowed again. That clan was small, but ruthless. “It was just one. And Theon took care of him.”

Ned seemed to visibly relax. His broad shoulders slumped slightly, and for the first time he saw Roslin. He blinked. “Who’re you?”

“That’s Roslin Frey,” Robb jumped in before Roslin could. “She’s the new schoolmarm, starting in the fall, and we’re putting her up. She’s been teaching Arya, Rickon and Bran extra sums so they’re ready for their lessons.”

Roslin looked like a rabbit sighted by Grey Wind. She offered a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Ned’s own hand engulfed hers perfunctorily. “Likewise.” His attention, and Robb’s, turned to the tall, slender young man mounting the porch steps now, whose approach had been so quiet as to have gone unnoticed.

Jon was Robb’s half-brother, younger by a few months and loved well enough by the rest of the family, save Catelyn. With his dark hair, long face, and grey eyes, he looked more like Arya and Ned than any of the other children. Alongside Theon, Jon was Robb’s closest friend, and he had missed him. 

Jon stared first at Robb’s clothes, then at Roslin. “I put the horses away. There’s a girl in the barn.”

Ned’s thick eyebrows arched. “Another one? Did your mother start a boarding house while we were gone, Robb? You’d’ve thought she’d learn from her sister’s mistake.”

Catelyn’s sister Lysa and her husband, Jon Arryn, had run a boarding house for years until Jon’s death. After, Lysa had taken up with a childhood friend, and the boarding house gradually slid into decay and sin. Now it was a seedy whorehouse in the Vale, and no one talked about Lysa.

“No.” Robb struggled to find the words to explain Alice, then gave up. “She just took on some extra help.”

Roslin took a step towards them both. “Mr. Stark, let me fix you and…” She looked at Jon pleadingly.

“Jon,” he provided.

“You and Jon something to eat. You must be so hungry. And I’m sure Mrs. Stark will be back soon.”

_Thank you_ , Robb mouthed when his father turned to Roslin. She gave him a small smile, her cheeks as red as her dress.

Ned looked over Robb one last time. “I’m sure you need your rest still. We can talk later.”

Jon waited while Ned herded Rickon into the kitchen, then raised his eyebrows at Robb. “I can’t leave you by yourself for five minutes, can I.”

“Go on and eat, you scrawny little ass.” Robb grinned at his brother. “After I want you to tell me everything about your ride.”

Supper that night was one of the happiest, noisiest meals the Stark house had seen in a while. Robb was only able to spoon weak broth, but it was enough. His brothers and sisters were all talking at once, clamboring over one another to tell Jon and their father everything that had happened since they’d left. Their mother was sitting at their father’s right hand, an exhausted relief on her face, while at the far end Theon, Alice, and Roslin were talking among themselves. Robb watched the three, feeling a little jolt of surprise at how Alice and Theon were getting along. She had said something that made him laugh, her dark head bent close to his. Robb suddenly felt like he was interrupting an intimate moment, and cleared his throat, trying to turn his attention back to his father.

Ned was wiping his beard with a napkin. "Robb, as soon as you're feeling up to it I want to go look over the house you and Jeyne are going to move into after your wedding. It hasn't been touched since Jory lived there and it's going to need some love. Now that Theon doesn't need you on the range we'll be able to fix it up ourselves."

"Sure thing, Pa." Robb felt an odd flutter in his stomach. The wedding was looming now - a mere two months away. He and Jeyne had been childhood sweethearts; it had been a given that they would marry eventually. For them, there had never been anyone else, and in 8 weeks they would ensure there never would be. The broth in Robb's stomach seemed to have gone cold. 'Eventually' was lurching closer and closer.

The thought was still in his mind later that night. The rest of the house was quiet - the only creatures awake, it seemed, were him and Grey Wind. Still too weak to climb the stairs to his bed, he was again relegated to the parlor. Grey Wind nuzzled his cheek, his nose wet against Robb's beard, and Robb scratched the dog's ear.

"I'm not about to sleep, boy. May as well try to get rid of this thing."

Climbing stiffly to his feet, he padded out to the sitting room. His father had left his rucksack there when he'd rushed into the house that afternoon, and it was easy to find his dusty old shaving kit. Fiddling with the lamp resting on a small table against the stairs, Robb adjusted the flame until he could see his reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. He lathered his cheeks with his father's shaving cream, but when he gripped the razor his hand trembled, the muscles protesting.

"C'mon," he muttered. His shoulder ached and throbbed, but he raised the blade to his cheek anyway. The first swipe brought with it a sharp sting. Robb swore as blood welled from a deep nick in his jaw. The razor clattered onto the tabletop, and he pressed the heel of his hand to it, blood welling around his palm. “Son of a bitch.”

“Are you alright?” a voice asked above him.

Robb glanced up. Roslin was leaning over the stair railing, halfway down.

“I’m fine.” Robb pulled his palm away, wrinkling his nose at the blood smeared there. “I thought you all were asleep.”

“I saw your light and thought you might need something.” Roslin descended the rest of the stairs, wrapped in a dark dressing gown knotted tightly around her waist. She picked up the razor and wiped the blood on a towel in the shaving kit. “You’ll kill yourself if you try to shave with your arm like that.” Pulling a spindly stool over from next to the fireplace, she nodded at it. “Sit down.”

Robb sat obediently, eyeing Roslin as she adjusted the lamplight. “What’re you doing?”

She stood in front of him, holding the razor. Planting a finger under his chin, she tipped it up. “I’m helping you.”

“You’re shaving me?”

“I’m _helping_ you.” Roslin repeated. “Hold still.” Pursing her lips, she dragged the razor along his chin, carefully, smoothly.

Robb swallowed reflexively as the razor moved over his throat, cold steel, and a brush of Roslin’s warm hand against his skin. “You’re not really a schoolteacher, are you. You’re one-a those bearded ladies on the lam from the circus, I wager. That’s how you got so good at shaving.”

Looming over him, Roslin smiled, rather prettily, Robb thought. “You’re awfully cheeky for a man with razor blade against his jugular.”

“I’m always cheeky in the face of danger.”

Roslin wiped the razor blade on the towel and turned Robb’s face to the side. He wasn’t sure if it was the glow of the lamp light on her skin, but she looked like she was blushing. “‘s not what Theon said. He told Alice and me at supper about one time you and he came across a nest of snakes and how fast you ran.”

“I was eight!” Robb exclaimed. “What eight-year-old boy do _you_ know who wouldn’t run away from a nest of snakes?” He shuddered. “Made me feel all itchy.”

“I know plenty of eight-year-old boys. Hold still, please.”

Roslin continued her slow, steady work. Her hands were surprisingly steady, firm and sure of their movements. Robb watched her face as she worked, smiling to himself at the small smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He’d never noticed them before. “I’ve got dozens of brothers and sisters, and most’ve them have been eight at one point or another. A nest of snakes is one of the more harmless things they’ve stumbled into.”

There was a fondness in her voice as she talked, and Robb wondered if she missed her home, her family. She’d been relatively quiet since arriving, spending most of her time with the younger children, brushing them up on their sums and writing.

“How many are there?”

Roslin was quiet for so long Robb thought he’d offended her. When he glanced up he saw she was counting to herself. “More than there ought to be. Nearly a hundred, give or take a few.”

“A _hundred_?” Robb started, and Roslin yanked the blade away from him.

“Stay _still_!” Roslin tapped Robb's nose with the flat of the blade. "I've shaved my older half-brothers plenty of times but they didn't wiggle so much. You're like shearing a sheep. Now just hold still. I'm almost done."

Roslin worked carefully, thoroughly. Her fingers gently turned Robb’s face this way and that, her touch gentle and sure. She hummed to herself as she did, a soft, slow song. Robb had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from dozing off. After some time, Roslin carefully dabbed the towel over Robb's face. "There."

Robb patted his cheeks, relishing in the feel of smooth, hairless skin. "That's wonderful. Thank you, Miss Frey. Jeyne will be so happy."

"Roslin,” she replied, folding the towel. “Miss Frey is...well, one of my innumerable sisters."

"I'm starting to understand why you wanted to come north. You're the only Frey for hundreds of miles."

"I am. It was a nice, long journey. And I'm so glad I met Jeyne. I don't make friends easily."

"I can't imagine that." Robb smiled, enjoying the little flare of pink in her cheeks. "You seem harmless enough. 'Less you've got my Pa's straight razor in your hand."

Roslin laughed, and her eyes widened as the clock on the mantle bonged the late hour. "Oh goodness. I've got to get to bed. Hopefully Alice is asleep by now. Do you need any help getting back to the parlor? Any water? I know Arya made some lemonade..."

"Arya made up a pitcher of straight lemon juice, more like. She's not graced with the domestic arts." Robb rose to his feet. "And thank you, but I should be able to make it back just fine on my own. If not, don't you worry. Grey Wind here'll take care of me." He grinned down at his wolfish dog, and the dog looked right back at him, pink tongue lolling.

"He better." Roslin patted Grey Wolf's head, and Robb tensed. Normally his dog was gun shy around strangers, and sometimes he was downright aggressive. But tonight he pushed his large head against Roslin's hand, chuffing playfully. "There's a good boy. You sleep well now, y'hear? Both of you." She winked at Robb and started back towards the stairs.

"Yeah..." Robb rubbed one of Grey Wind's ears, wondering what had just happened. "You too."

===========

The next morning, Robb leaned his head against the back of the porch swing, rubbing his smooth jaw. Grey Wind was sprawled next to him, his large head resting on Robb’s thigh. The only sounds were the boys and Arya bickering as they tended the vegetable garden, Sansa and Roslin laughing about something inside, the occasional birdsong. He could hear snorts and wickers from the paddock across from the barn, and when he glanced over he could see little Whisper, bucking and prancing around in the grass.

Presently a new sound reached his ears - the creaking of wagon wheels. It’d be Jon, of course. He had gone into town earlier in the morning to collect the mail and do whatever else it was that Jon did. Robb thought he was just craving social interaction. His months of riding with the Wall had proved to be trying and lonely, and he’d been spending as much time in town as he could.

The wagon rounded the corner of the porch, and Jon whistled sharply. “Up and at ‘em, you lazy sack of bones! There was a parcel waitin’ for you in town.”

Robb had lifted his head at the whistle, and Grey Wind jumped down from the swing, loping down the porch steps. He grinned when he saw Jon’s parcel. “Mornin’, you.”

“Morning.” Jeyne sat pertly next to his half-brother, hands folded on a small pile of needlepoint work sitting on her lap.

Robb stood carefully, gripping the porch rail. “Thought you were stayin’ home today, resting up and such.”

“Oh, I was, but…” Jeyne shook her head, obviously agitated. Jon had hopped down from the wagon and extended a hand to her to help her down. “My pa and I got into a spat and I can’t bear to face him just now. I caught your brother comin’ out of the post office and bothered him till he agreed to bring me out here to you.”

“‘s no bother.” Jon mounted the porch and leaned against the rail, flipping through the mail. He held out an envelope to Robb. “Make sure that gets to Sansa, could ya? ‘s from your Aunt Lysa.”

“Give it to her yourself.” Robb settled back on the porch swing, patting the seat next to him for Jeyne. “You live here too.”

Jon scowled. “Your ma in there?”

Catelyn’s dislike of Jon, her husband’s illegitimate son, was well-known around these parts, and Robb couldn’t blame Jon for being wary of her. Robb shifted slightly, allowing more room for Jeyne’s skirts. “Sure is, but she won’t bite you ‘f you don’t bite her first.”

Jon just shot him a look, but pulled the screen door open and vanished into the house. Robb turned to Jeyne, resting his arm along the back of the swing. “Now, what’re you and your pa up in arms about?” Jeyne didn’t answer him at first, instead focusing on an invisible spot on her skirt. Her cuticles were ragged. She’d been picking at them again, a nervous habit she’d had for as long as he’d known her. “Jeynie?”

Jeyne looked over at him almost guiltily. “I told him I want to go to the Citadel.”

It took the words a moment to register with Robb. The Citadel was the oldest, most well-known medical school in the country. It was also in Oldtown, thousands of miles away on the southwestern tip of the continent. Doc Luwin had gone there, ages before he’d found himself up here in Winter’s Town. He blinked. “Why d’you want to do that?”

“Well…” Jeyne chewed her bottom lip. When she did start speaking, her words were jerky and hesitant. “We went down there when I was visiting my cousins in the spring. We saw where they teach the students, where they open up bodies to study them, all the mixes and elixers. It was fascinating. I wanted to see more, to learn what the doctors were learning. And then I wasn’t back home for more than a day before you were shot. I came with my father every chance I could, helped as much as I could-”

“-I remember,” Robb interrupted. It was mostly true. The first few days after his attack were a painful blur, but he did remember Jeyne’s touch, her voice.

Jeyne nodded. “I want to do what my father does, Robb. I want to know what he knows and help people like he and Doc Luwin do. I want to be a doctor.” She stared at him warily.

Robb shifted on the swing. He didn’t know if it was the fact that he’d been unconscious for days or not, but his brain seemed to be having difficulties groaning to life now. “Why don’t you have your pa teach you, then? Doc Luwin taught him when he was your age. Or ask Ol’ Nan, that midwife. She could teach you ‘bout herbs and birthin’ and whatnot.”

“I don’t want hand-me-down knowledge, Robb.” Jeyne laced her fingers together and for the first time she sounded like she’d rehearsed this speech. “I don’t want to be some woods witch delivering babies and making moon tea. I want to _learn_. Find out why lightning makes my heart race, or why my mother’s knees creak in the morning, or what happens to us when we die.”

“Jeynie, sweetheart…” Robb rubbed a hand over his face, trying not to sound as confused as he felt. “That kind of schoolin’ takes years. And we’re getting married in a few weeks now, remember? What’m I supposed to do, say ‘I do’ and then send you on a train to the far side of the country for the gods know how long?”

“No.” Jeyne was facing him, taking his hands in hers. “I want you to come with me. You can find work down there, and when I’m done with school we’ll just come back up here, or...or wherever the Citadel says I’m needed.”

“Wherever the Citadel says you’re _needed_?” Robb was incredulous now. He tried to keep his voice from rising. “Jeynie, that could be _anywhere_. Hells, it could be in Essos for all you know. If they even take you! There’s never been a woman taken into the Citadel.” He stood stiffly and leaned against the porch railing. “Are you out of your mind? You think you can just spring this on me so close to our wedding and that I’ll be fine with...with just _leaving_?”

“I know I’m asking a lot-”

“No, you’re not asking a lot,” Robb plowed over her words. “You’re askin’ too much. Is this what you and your pa argued about? ‘f he doesn’t agree with this I can’t blame him!”

He shook his head, gazing out over the fields. This was his home. He’d spent all of his life here, nearly 20 years, and he had every intention of spending the rest of it here too. He was going to see his sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters take care of the land, love it like he did. He’d thought Jeyne shared his vision.

“Gods’ sake…You are out of your mind, Jeynie. Who’s gonna take care a’ this place when my pa’s too old? I stand to inherit all this land.”

“Jon could-”

“Jon won’t inherit cow shit. Not ‘s long as my ma’s got breath in her lungs. And Bran’s too young.” Robb fell silent, more than irritated. Jeyne’s little flight of fancy, if she saw it through, would throw more than just their marriage into upheaval.

They were silent for a long while before he heard Jeyne stand. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Think about it, Robb. It’d make me so happy...just think about it.” When he didn’t respond, she disappeared into the house, presumably to bother Jon for a ride back into town.

Robb didn’t need to think about it. He wasn’t about to be dragged off to a city like Oldtown, where there were no trees and no open space. Where there were more people than he could count, and where there was no room to breathe. No, his place was here. He just had to make Jeyne see that hers was too.

Hours later Robb was still angry. He’d been short with his family all afternoon and eventually they’d just left him alone. After supper he’d returned to the back porch, just him and Grey Wind. He idly stroked his dog’s head while the sun sank below the horizon, trying to think of a reason not to go into town to shake some sense into Jeyne. He still couldn’t fathom how she could ask him to leave everything he’d ever known so she could chase some spur-of-the-moment whim. It just wasn’t right.

The screen door creaked. Robb braced himself for an incoming squabble between Rickon and Bran, or more wheedling from Arya about him giving her shooting lessons. Heavy footsteps on the wood slats told him it wasn’t either of these; instead, it was just Jon. He pushed himself up onto the porch rail to sit and sipped a mug of coffee, the steam rising into his dark curls.

“Your gal was pretty worked up this afternoon.”

Robb snorted. “My gal’s gone crazy. She tell you about her harebrained idea?”

“Some of it.” Jon reached down and scratched Ghost’s ears. The albino dog was a littermate of Grey Wind, silent and red-eyed since birth. Most people, especially strangers, found the animal unsettling, but Robb liked him. “Said she wanted to head south.”

“She wants to go to the Citadel and she wants me to tag along.” Robb raked a hand through his hair. “She wants me to just give up the ranch and follow her.”

“What’s Pa say?”

“I haven’t mentioned it to him. It’s just...we’ve been plannin’ this wedding for a year. Why’s she bringin’ this all up now?”

“Girls are fickle.” Jon shrugged lazily. “Could be she’s just gettin’ a little case of cold feet. I wouldn’t worry about it. Give her a day or two and she’ll come off it.”

Robb glanced at Jon. “You sure?”

“Sure.” Jon slid off the porch railing. “Now, don’t go gettin’ your guts twisted about it though. They’ve been through enough lately.”

Robb snorted. “You’re tellin’ me. You think she’ll come around?”

“‘course she will. Listen, she’s the one facing all these huge changes. It’s her name that’s changin’, her that’ll be movin’ to a new home, her that’s getting a new family. It’s like when the first time Theon tries to put a saddle on a yearling. They buck it off at first, but eventually they get used to and hardly know any different. This is just Jeyne bucking it off. She’ll calm down just as soon as the wedding’s done.”

“...you comparin’ my future wife to a horse?” In spite of himself, Robb chuckled. “No wonder you can never court a girl properly.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

“You’re humming.”

Mya glanced over at Theon, biting her lip to hide a smile at his sour expression. “Sorry. I guess I’m just in a good mood.”

“Be in a quieter one, then.” Theon rubbed his temples, and Mya’s smile grew. Theon had gone into town the evening before. Mya hadn’t been awake when he’d returned, but judging by Theon’s red eyes and boozy stench this morning, she guessed it hadn’t been an early night.

The sun was barely breaking over the horizon. They had harnessed two of the large draft horses to one of the Stark’s wagons, laden with fur pelts and other supplies. Ned Stark had told both of them they needed to take the supplies out to a far-laying homestead belonging to Roose Bolton, a tanner who lived far east of Winterfell. According to Ned, Roose’s elder son had recently passed away, leaving just Bolton and his younger son, a boy named Ramsay. Roose could turn the pelts into leather goods, Ned said, and he could get himself back on his feet. Mya and Theon were to take the wagon, stay the night at the Bolton’s homestead, and return in the morning.

So here they were, trundling along in a heavy, four-wheeled dray through orchards that were starting to bear their summer fruits. The morning was filled with birdsong trilling from the branches overhead.It was so peaceful.Next to her, gripping the horses’ reins with white knuckles, Theon looked as though he wanted to pluck and roast every bird that dared to open its beak.

She shifted on the hard bench seat, toying with the end of her braid. “I can steer for a while if you want to try and get some sleep.”

Theon’s eyes flicked over at her and for a moment she thought he was about to accept. “Nah,” he finally replied, twitching the reins. “You’ve never steered a team before.”

Mya eyed the large chestnut rumps ahead of them, placidly clomping along. The road stretched ahead in a straight line, identical to the one behind them. “I think I can handle it.”

He gave her another long, searching look, then nodded. "Fine. Keep 'em at this speed and wake me up when you come to a fork in the road with a pile of stones in it. They should follow the road pretty well on their own, I s'pose. Also, we’ll be comin’ up on a river soon. It’ll be running high this time of year and the bridge is old. If it looks rickety, wake me up then." Handing the reins over to her, Theon clambered into the wagon bed, tugged the brim of his hat down, and was asleep within minutes.

Mya glanced back at him, smiling to herself before giving the reins another twitch. The horses plodded along once more, and she leaned back a little in her seat.

She liked working with Theon. Sure, he was arrogant and moody and sometimes downright mean, and an impatient teacher, but she was used to ornery men, and she was learning under him. In the weeks she'd been working with Theon, her hands had formed first blisters, then when they had burst and healed, callouses that made Sansa's nose wrinkle when she saw them. Mya's shoulders and thighs no longer ached after a day riding, and most mornings she was awake before Theon was.  

She was starting to love this land, too. There was a rugged beauty that was different than the Vale. Older. They were further away from the mountains now, and to her right the land spread out in a wide, vast plain. New grain was sprouting, and corn and crops Mya couldn’t even identify, wide swaths of green and gold and brown. She could see homesteads from here - houses, farms, groves of trees and occasionally a thin river or pond reflecting the sunlight.

It was so different than the Vale here. The Vale had fertile grounds, yes, but there were always jagged mountains looming over you like rugged sentinels. The mountains there were newer than they were here in the North and time hadn’t had a chance to wear them down or soften them. There was a sense of enclosure, unlike here.

_Here_ , Mya thought, _is freedom_.

As happy as she was, though, Mya knew it was fleeting. Robb was healing, and Theon's wedding was coming up. After that, he'd be shipped off to live in town and learn how to run the general store, and then what? She couldn't ask the Starks to keep her on, but she didn't know where she could go. North of the mountains would mean a certain death at the hands of the Wildlings. Going back south wasn't an option. The further south she went, the higher the risk she'd run into Lysa or Petyr or one of their posses. She didn’t have the money to cross the Narrow Sea, either.

She liked being Alice, too. Being Alice Longmire meant she had a clean past; no thin, stained mattresses, no dirty looks on the streets, and no lost little boy, born into death. Alice Longmire had nothing to be ashamed of. It was a relief, really, to put all the ugliness that had been her life behind her. Mya Stone was dying the soft, easy death she deserved, and Alice Longmire was starting to live the life she'd always wanted.

When she reached the fork in the road, Mya glanced back at Theon again, and felt an odd little tugging in her chest. She'd miss him after the wedding, but she knew it wouldn't be proper for a married man to spend time alone with a woman.

_ Still... _

She gave a gentle tug on the reins to stop the wagon. The wedding was still weeks away, and right now the groom was sprawled on his stomach, his face buried in the crook of one arm. There was a shock of dark hair falling across his temple, and she gently brushed it away. As she did, the unbidden thought came to her - what would he feel like looming over her, in her? _No. You've been here before and it’s not a good place to be_.

"You two hold right here." Mya said to the horses as she set the reins down and carefully maneuvered her way between two large barrels and a pile of fox pelts. She touched Theon's shoulder. "Theon?"

"Mmmph." Theon barely stirred.

Mya leaned closer, careful not to touch him. "Theon, c’mon, you need to wake up.”

Theon stirred again, wrapping an arm around Mya's waist and tugging her under him, all without opening his eyes. "Come warm me up some first."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and Mya's heart stopped. The feel of a man on top of her was nothing new, but this was different. Something about the way his body fit against hers...She realized she _wanted_ to be here. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt in quite some time.

"That a new perfume?"

Mya squirmed, trying half-heartedly to push him off. "Theon, no, I-"

At the sound of her voice he jerked awake and scurried away from her, his eyes wide as he backed into a sloshing barrel. "Hellfire, Alice, what're you _doin_ '?"

_That's a damn good question_. Mya shook her head, her cheeks blazing. "Just tryin' to wake you up, is all."

"Oh, I'm up alright." Theon sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. "I was havin' the best dream, too. Me an’ two of the girls from town were-”

“Stop.” Mya held up a hand. The image of Theon entwined with two whores made her chest tug again. “I don’t need to hear any of that, Theon. I’m not Robb. Gods above…”

“Fine, fine.” Theon stretched and stood, scratching his stomach. “I...uh...I guess I was sleeping heavier than I thought.”

“It’s alright.” Mya’s voice softened, somewhat against her will. It seemed no matter how hard she wanted to be irked at Theon, she couldn’t be.  “You needed it.”

“I’d’ve woken up eventually.” Theon removed his hat, combed through his dark hair, and resettled it on his head. “You’re bonier than Daisy or Bessie.”

Mya shrugged. “You’re probably not the scrawniest thing I've laid under.”

The second the words left her lips Mya wanted to grab them back. Theon’s eyebrows rose nearly to the brim of his hat, and his lips quirked in a crooked smile. “That so?”

She was on her feet before she realized it, gripping the back of the wagon seat and feeling splinters prick her fingers. “I-...I didn’t mean- that came out wrong. I haven’t-” Theon was laughing now and it made anger and shame flare in her belly. “Stop that, it isn’t funny!”

“Yes it is!” Theon was still chuckling as he climbed over the side of the wagon and faced a plum tree to piss against it. “Calm down, Alice. Robb’s got his foot halfway down his throat half the time. I’m used to it.” He glanced over his shoulder as he shook his last few drops off. "You better make your water here while you can. Bushes get a lot more scarce from here on out. You remember what poison ivy looks like by now? "

Mya jumped off the wagon bed with as much dignity as she could muster, heading for the opposite side of the road to find a bush. "Of course I do," she replied stiffly. "I learned my lesson, thank you _very_ much."

* * *

By the time the wagon crossed into Bolton land, the sun was setting behind them, stretching purple shadows far ahead of them. The orchards and fields had petered out shortly after noon, and the land had grown increasingly rugged. Craggy stacks of rock reached towards the dusk like twisted, gnarled fingers. The moon was starting to rise in the east, pale and fat and lazy.  

Mya was struggling to keep her eyes open, and her rump was numb from hours of sitting on the hard bench seat. The winds in these parts were hot and stale, bringing a faint foul stench that seemed to grow stronger the further east they travelled. Despite the smell, her head dropped lower and lower…

“Alice.”

At Theon’s voice Mya’s head jerked up from where it had fallen on his shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

“Oh…” Mya wiped a hand across her cheek, relieved she hadn’t been drooling. “I’m sorry, I was more tired than I thought.”

Theon just shrugged. “‘s a long ride. And boring.” He nodded ahead of them, where the road curved sharply. “Just around there’s the Bolton place.”

Mya nodded, her nose wrinkling slightly as the breeze kicked up that wretched smell again. “What _is_ that?”

“A tannery.” Theon said matter-of-factly. “You’re from King’s Landing, ain’t you? Supposed to smell ten times worse there.”

Mya swallowed. “That city smells so bad it’s hard to pick out just one scent.” _The Vale smelled cold. Cold and fresh_. She shook her head. “What’re they like, the Boltons?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Theon spat over the edge of the wagon.“There’re stories, but I’m not about to tell you them when we’re on their goddamn doorstep.”

“Then why’re we helping them?”

Theon sighed. “Because Ned Stark is a decent man who takes care of those in need.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Whether they want it or not.”

They fell silent as Theon stopped the horses on the crest of a long ridge. Before them the land spread into a shallow valley, flanked by sparse, dry hills. A narrow, winding river parted the ground at the valley floor, and a small band of green spread from its banks. Next to the river a mile or so away down the road sat a copse of sprawling oak trees and pines, and a thin spiral of smoke curled into the dusk.

Mya glanced at Theon, who was staring ahead, tracing a circle in his cheek with his tongue. His gaze flicked to her and held for a minute before he shook the reins. “Let’s get this done. Roose Bolton will be waiting.”

Roose Bolton _was_ waiting as they rode into the small oak grove, winding rope around an arm. He watched them with pale eyes, not saying a word until Theon climbed down from the wagon. The grove was dark, the air laced with the smell of pine and tannery. There was a handful of low buildings scattered around; a decent-sized cabin, a barn, barracks for the help.

“We expected you earlier.” His voice was quiet and even. There was something about his face that was unsettling to Mya, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Theon rested a hand on the rump of one of the horses and climbed up on the rung of the wagon wheel. Wrapping his hands easily around Mya’s waist, he lifted her out of the wagon and set her down. “We left before dawn.”

The man’s eyes, the color of dirty ice, flicked over Mya. “Of course. I have to say, though, I expected Ned Stark to bring this load out himself, instead of sending the help and a girl in his place.” His words were polite enough, but even Mya couldn’t miss the underlying derision in his tone. _Maybe it’s his eyes. They’re dead eyes_.

Mya glanced at Theon, but his face was blank. “He’s been out with The Wall for months. ‘f you like, me and Alice here can take the wagon back and wait till he’s able to come out himself. Might be he won’t for a good few weeks though.”

There was a long silence, and Mya glanced back and forth between Roose and Theon, wanting nothing more than to turn the wagon right around and head for home.

“See to your horses.” Roose said. “Once you’re done come inside. Ramsay will see to the wagon and supplies when he returns from hunting.”

The barn wasn’t a barn at all, merely a shed with a handful of stalls and dim light leaking in from between the slats of the wall. Even still, there was room and feed enough for the two draft horses.

“Are we really staying here tonight?” Mya asked in a low voice as she filled a grain bin.

Theon nodded grimly. “Just tonight. It’s an ugly place with some ugly folks, but we’ll be ok. By this time tomorrow you’ll be snug in your closet with the schoolmarm.”

Mya laughed, startling the horses. “It’s not a closet! It’s very cozy. Very homey. And the schoolmarm has a name. She’s a nice girl. You should talk to her sometime.”

“Please.” Theon snorted as he left his stall. “I’ve had my fill of nice girls. Hurry up with that horse there. If we’re lucky Roose’ll feed us.”

* * *

The inside of the Bolton settlement was no more cheery than the outside. There was none of the warmth and hominess of Winterfell, none of the laughter. There was one main room with a large, heavy stone hearth dominating one wall. A narrow hallway led off to where Mya assumed people slept. The furniture was grim and old; when Mya sat at the butcher block serving as a dinner table her chair gave an alarming squawk and her heart stopped as she was nearly dumped to the dirty ground.

The food was as cheerless as the rest of the place. Roose set bowls of greyish-brown soup in front of Theon and Mya. Fatty, unrecognizable dumplings floated in it, along with chopped up vegetables and hunks of what Mya hoped was meat. Roose tore a loaf of brown bread into pieces, taking his seat at the head of the table. “You’ll have to forgive the fare. My elder son did most of the cooking before his death. He was much better at it.”

“We were all sorry to hear of that,” Mya offered. She hadn’t known him, of course, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Swallowing some of the broth, she bit back a cough when her stomach heaved at the saltiness. She cleared her throat; Theon lifted his eyebrows. “Losing a child is the greatest loss.”

“He was a good boy.” Roose replied in his quiet voice. “He was never well, though. Sickly, like his mother. He went hunting with my younger son several months back and fell ill.” He dipped his heel of bread into his soup. “He lasted mere days after they returned.”

Before Theon or Mya could respond, the dreary silence was broken by the braying of hounds outside, and several men’s voices laughing, calling to one another. Roose wiped his mouth on his napkin. “That’ll be Ramsay and his men now.” He made no move to rise or go out to greet his son. Mya glanced at Theon again, who merely shrugged.

The door to the cabin burst open, and when Mya looked up at the figure filling it she went cold. _Him.It's him.Not him_.

Several years ago, maybe two or three, a group of men had come stumbling into the brothel one spring night, already three sheets to the wind. Mya didn't remember how many of them there were, but it didn't really matter. All that mattered was _him_ , and what he’d done to her. She'd wept for days after, and had shied away from mens' touches for weeks. She could still barely stand to remember that long, dark night. Sometimes in her worst nightmares she saw his eyes, those small, piggish flecks in his soft, cruel face. She remembered every inch of him, every second of their time together. He was a large man, but not muscular. His flesh had been hot and heavy against hers. When he was on top of her she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Now, those dirty-ice colored eyes were locking on hers, and those thick, wet lips were turning up in a vile grin. Mya felt her chest seize, her breath freezing in her lungs.

“Why Pa,” he said. “You didn’t tell me you were expectin’ guests.” Ramsay pulled up a chair, spun it around, and straddled it, resting his arms along the back. All the while that grin never left his face. “Greyjoy, always nice to see you. Who’s your friend?”

“Alice.” Mya answered before Theon could, and for the second time that day, wanted to snatch the word out of the air. “My name is Alice.”

“Ah... _Alice_.” Ramsay pulled a hunk of bread towards himself and his grin only grew. “Lovely name. Always sounded...pure to me. All innocence.” _He knows. He remembers me_. Her heart, already pounding, doubled its efforts. She felt a drop of cold sweat worm down the back of her neck. The fatty dumplings were starting to bicker in her stomach. She tried to steady her breathing so she wouldn’t retch all over her host’s table. The sense of comfort that had wrapped around her these past few months now hung by a thread, and Ramsay held the scissors.

Roose’s quiet voice broke the silence that had fallen. “What kills did you get?”

“Two does.” Ramsay shrugged. “The dogs took a fawn, but there wasn’t enough to bring back. I saved the brains for tanning.”

Father and son fell into talk of the hunt, and while they were distracted Theon nudged Mya’s hand. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She nodded. “Fine. Just tired. And the soup…”

“I know.” Theon’s grin was quick and sharp. “I’ve seen more appealing things in the pig slop. I’ve still got some biscuits in my bag. Once we’re bedded down you can have one a’ them. Two if you ask nice.”

After supper, it became apparent that sleeping arrangements would prove to be a problem. Roose had no problem sending Theon out to bed down with the rest of his help in their quarters, but he wouldn’t feel quite right submitting Mya to them.

“They’re just this side of feral,” he told her with a quick grimace. “There hasn’t been a woman here to keep them clean and in line for too many years. I don’t intend to have that be your responsibility, or your burden. You will stay here in the main house, with Ramsay and myself.”

“Oh no,” Mya took a step backwards instinctively, bumping into Theon. He rested a hand on her shoulder. The urge to duck behind him, to hide from those _eyes_ , was overwhelming. “I couldn’t impose on you-”

“Please.” Roose smiled. It was terrifying. “I insist.”

Mya glanced behind her at Theon, who pressed his lips together slightly. Turning back to Roose and trying to ignore Ramsay, she pasted on what she hoped was a grateful smile. "I'd be happy to, then."

The sun set quickly in this valley, as if it was hiding from the sight of the grim copse. Roose showed Mya to the room she'd be staying in. "This was my older son’s room.”

It was sparse, having only a narrow bed, stiff, ladderback chair, and a bedside table bearing a dusty bowl and pitcher of water. A scratchy wool blanket was folded over the bed. There was one window, shuttered and barred, and the floor was bare. Mya shut the door, wishing it had a lock, a hundred locks, anything to keep Ramsay Bolton out. She sat on the edge of the hard bed and buried her face in her hands, pressing her fingers against her eyes and trying to blot out the image of him, to push out the cruel memory of his hands on her.

It didn’t work. Ramsay refused to budge, dancing behind her eyes, leering at her. She stood abruptly, pacing the length of the small room before pulling a small comb out of her pocket and undoing her long braid. She tried to work through the tangles as patiently as Sansa was able to, brushing the dust and dirt of the day’s travels out of her hair and trying to turn her mind to the simple, repetitive task rather than Ramsay. She had almost done it when he pushed her door open.

Mya gripped the comb hard enough to feel the teeth bite into her palm. “Get out.”

“Well, that’s hardly polite.” Ramsay stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, leaning his heavy frame against it. “I could have you sleeping in the kennels if I wanted. Maybe you’d feel more at home there?” Mya couldn’t respond, and Ramsay grinned. “I have to say, I’m surprised to see Theon riding with a whore, rather than just riding a whore. How do you keep him at bay, Mya?” Mya’s mouth open and closed again, and a cold fist gripped her insides. Ramsay chuckled now, looping a bit of her dark hair around a fat, white finger. He was close enough that she could smell him. He smelled sour. Her dinner started to rise in her throat. “Oh, he doesn’t _know_ , is that it? Is that why you’re suddenly _Alice_?”

Moving quicker than she’d thought he could he yanked her close by that lock of hair, his face close to hers. His breath reeked of meat and rotgut whiskey. When Mya tried to pull away he wrapped his entire fist in her hair, hissing “What do you say we go tell him, hmm? What do you think he’ll say?”

“N-no, please.” Mya was holding as still as she could, her head wrenched around and held firm. His arousal was hard against her back. That didn’t scare her half as much as the thought of Theon finding out about her past. Her body had been shamed and defiled before; she could handle that. But for _her_ , her spirit and soul, to be scorned by Theon, _...No...._ “Please, just let me go.”

“Ah, where’s the fun in that?” Ramsay’s free hand was snaking over her stomach, easily untucking her shirt and slipping up to cup a breast. “Tell me, _Mya_ , does he get you wet?”

“ _Please-_ ”

Ramsay’s fingers found a nipple and twisted.  Mya had to bite back a scream. “Answer me.” When Mya still remained silent, he abandoned her breasts and instead slid his hand down her soft, worn trousers, stroking roughly. “You know what I can do to you. Go on and scream for your darling Theon. I want you to scream for him when I’m inside you.”

Mya’s eyes were streaming now, her breath coming in fast little hitches. She refused to make another sound. When Ramsay moved his hands to push her towards the bed she twisted free from his grasp, stumbling into the spindly bedside table. The pitcher and bowl shattered when they hit the floor. In a moment of desperation Mya snatched a jagged piece of porcelain off the floor, wielding it like a dagger. Her shirt had torn and hung open.The air felt cold against her bare flesh.

“You stay away from me,” she snarled. “Your father-”

“-doesn’t care what happens to a whore.” Ramsay seemed unperturbed. “Now, you have two options here.” He strolled casually towards Mya. When she tried to slip past him towards the door he simply grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. “Are you going to listen?”

Mya tried to draw a breath, but he was crushing her windpipe. She slashed at him with the porcelain. He knocked it from her hand, sending it flying to the floor. His lips were a scant breath from her face. She tried to turn away from him but he held her fast. _You’re going to die..._

Ramsay spoke again, his question a command now. “You’re going to listen.”

Tears still streaming, she nodded mutely, gasping for breath when he released her. “Good girl. Now. Are we going to get along tonight, or do I need to call Theon in here so you and he can have a little chat? I imagine the almighty Starks won’t be impressed that you’ve been lying to them.”

Mya felt frozen with terror and at the same time, filled with molten shame. “Please,” she tried again. Her throat burned, and she swallowed. “Please don’t tell him. I’ll...whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

Ramsay dragged a finger along Mya’s jaw, forcing her to look at him. “There’s a good girl.” He tangled a hand in her hair again, holding her in place while his hand slid down her pants. He plunged a finger into her, hissing through his teeth at her pained cry. “Dry as a bone. I should get one of my hounds. You remember my hounds, don’t you? Baelish charged me extra to bring them into his whorehouse. They liked you, though. Liked your taste.”

The bedroom door creaked open without warning. “Alice, I forgot to give you-” Theon stood in the doorway, holding a wrapped bundle of biscuits. In one fluid move he dropped them and drew his six-shooter, aiming it steadily at Ramsay’s head. “Get away from her.” When Ramsay didn’t move, he drew back the hammer. “Now!”

Ramsay sighed, but stepped away from Mya. She clutched the remains of her shirt closed, hurrying away from him, while Theon circled closer, the gun still on Ramsay. He held up both hands. “You can have your turn when I’m done with her, Greyjoy. Or we could share her. She’s got more holes than I can reasonably fill.” Theon pulled back the hammer without a word, and Ramsay laughed. “Alright, fine, you can have her first. It’s all just another day’s work for a girl like-”

Mya flew at Ramsay, slamming her fist into his fleshy face. Ramsay, caught off-guard, stumbled. His heel caught on the corner of the spindly table, and when as he fell the back of his head cracked loudly on the bed frame. He landed heavily, and was still. Mya could only stare, a trembling hand over her mouth.

“Are you alright?” Theon tucked his pistol away and crossed the small room to her, gripping her shoulders lightly. “Alice?”

She was still staring at Ramsay’s unmoving form, but the feel of Theon’s hands on her shoulders jolted her out of her trance. Theon’s gaze had fallen to the valley between her breasts, and she swore he could see her heart pounding there. Fumbling with the shirt, she nodded. “He didn’t hurt me...did I...is he dead? Did I kill him?”

Theon’s eyes lingered on her face a moment longer before he knelt, touching his fingers to Ramsay’s throat. After a minute he stood, shaking his head. “He’s still alive. Broke his jaw though, I’d wager.”

Mya could only just stare. She felt oddly detached from herself, and when she closed her eyes she could see the scene as if from above. She saw Theon take a step towards her, reaching for her again, and her eyes flew open, and he was so close.

Theon swiped his thumb across her cheek. “There…”

“I’m sorry,” Mya replied automatically. She was suddenly aware of the heat coming off Theon, his scent. He looked so angry - the way his jaw was clenched, the straight line of his lips, how dark his eyes were. His pulse was racing in his throat. She wanted to throw her arms around him, to bury her face against his chest and pretend none of this had happened. _He didn’t hurt you. He can’t hurt you_. Eventually the fist gripping her stomach started to loosen, although Mya had no idea what she’d do when Ramsay woke up. “I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

Theon laughed humorlessly, nudging Ramsay’s still form with a booted foot. “Trust me, you’re not the one causin’ trouble. C’mon, get your things together. We’re not about to stay here tonight.”


	10. Chapter 10

Theon hated having to leave the wagon, but he and Alice had to make a quick, quiet exit. The wagon was loud and lumbering, and over the course of the trek out to the Bolton place, had developed a squeal in one of the axles that would’ve sounded like an eagle screaming in the night. He’d be expected to pay for the loss of the wagon out of his wages. That was fine. He was going to have to have a long talk with Ned Stark when they arrived home anyway - Ramsay and Roose were not like to overlook an assault on one of them, even if it was completely warranted. Ned would have questions, no doubt.

Truth be told he wasn’t the least bit surprised that Ramsay had tried to rape Alice. It didn’t make it any less appalling, but Ramsay had a reputation that stretched far and wide.

_Still..._

He glanced at Alice, methodically saddling up one of the huge draft horses they’d be riding back. He thought he was more upset by the act than she was. _She’s not supposed to be this...calm. She’s supposed to be weeping and swooning and carrying on. Isn’t that what women do? Hell,_ she _was the one who knocked him out, not me._ He looked at her still, masklike face. “Why didn’t you scream?”

She paused in fastening the bridle. Her eyes were black pools in the darkness of the small, dingy Bolton barn. She gave him the kind of smile usually reserved for talking to someone who’s touched in the head. “I know better. If you scream it just makes it worse.”

Without another word she led her horse out of the barn, leaving Theon to stare mutely as a sudden realization washed over him.

_That’s what she was running from._

He led his mount out of the barn, his brain trying to wrap itself around this sudden new fact. _A bad marriage, maybe. Hell, it’s happened before, and what she did was smart. Run all the way to someplace where she’s surrounded by honorable men and mountains and wolves._

Alice was mounted by the time Theon got outside, waiting for him. “Are you sure you can ride?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Everyone on this homestead was passed out drunk or with a head wound, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“I’m fine,” Alice replied. “Really, Theon. He didn’t hurt me.”

The whole evening gnarled in Theon’s stomach, chewing and burning. What kind of husband had Alice had that she was so at ease about nearly being _raped_? What else had he done to her? Theon didn’t hold any illusions that he was a good man, or that he would be a good husband, but he’d never willingly harm Ellie. Not like that, at least. His own father had raised his hand to his mother plenty of times, but the Starks had drilled into him that that wasn’t right. It left a sour taste in his mouth, the whole thought.

They walked their mounts till they were well clear of the Bolton’s valley. Next to him Alice rode, quiet. She hadn’t braided her hair in their haste to leave, and it hung to the small of her back in a dark straight river, gleaming in the moonlight. Theon couldn’t stop staring at it. It was nothing like Ygritte’s hair - hers had been a fiery tangle that seemed to have a mind of its own. He’d tried to run his fingers through it on occasion, only to get his fingers stuck, much to Ygritte’s mirth. Alice’s would slip through his fingers, fine as Lyseni silk. He could tell just by looking, and suddenly he just wanted to touch it. To touch _her_. She was distant and cool as the Wolf Moon right now. It made him want to pull her close until she melted against him and laughed again. She would be soft, he decided. Soft and smooth. The glimpse of the well of her breasts hovered behind his eyes, and he wanted to bury his face there, to plant his lips over her heart and wrap his fingers in her long, dark hair. That, and the firmness of her waist as he’d lifted her from the wagon earlier that day, made his blood run suddenly hot.

_Oh for the gods’ sake, Greyjoy_. He gave himself a firm mental shake. _Didn’t you learn your lesson? You just need to go get your rocks off in town when you get back. Have a whore work your poison out of you and leave Alice alone._

She was looking south, where black clouds blotted out the stars and purple-white lightning licked from cloud to cloud. “Is that coming our way?”

Theon shook his head. “Even ‘f it did it’s nothin’. Just heat lightning.” He squinted into the dark. “We won’t make it back to Winterfell tonight...we’ll have to sleep rough.”

“That’s fine,” Alice said softly. “Where do you want to stop?”

Theon thought. They were still far too close to the Boltons to stop, too close by half. “How far can you go on?”

“As far as we need to.” She looked at him, and he looked at her. In the space of a few heartbeats something passed between them, something intangible. Theon nodded, kicking his horse into a canter.

“Let’s put some distance between us and them, then.”

He felt safer once they’d left the rocky eastern lands and the road curved into a dense pine forest. The air felt quieter, and the breezes felt gentler, less probing. It smelled sweeter, too. The stench of the tannery had finally faded, replaced by the scent of pines, the faint, sharp bite of a clump of juniper bushes. It was a smell that made Theon crave a shot or two of gin, but that comfort was miles away.

They rode in silence for what felt like hours. When Theon next glanced at Alice he smiled a little. She was dozing in her saddle, swaying lightly, her lips slightly parted. Theon stopped his horse and dismounted, taking the reins of hers just under the beast’s bit.

“Easy there, boy.” The horse looked at him with large, liquid eyes. He was as tired as Theon. “We’re done for tonight.” He rested a hand on Alice’s knee, shaking it slightly. “Alice?” She started awake immediately, blinking owlishly. “We’re gonna stop for the night.”

“Here?” Alice slid off her horse, looking around warily.

“Here. There ain’t many hotels on the road in these parts. C’mon.” Theon took the reins of both horses and led them off the road a bit. “There’s a spot off the road a little.” She still looked dubious, but Theon couldn’t blame her. Other than the shelter of the enormous, old pines, there was little else to suggest that this was even a safe place. Theon knew it well, though. He and Robb had camped out in this area many a night growing up. He led Alice into the woods a quarter mile to where a great rock butte punched up from the ground. It loomed large and dark and to Theon, it was as comforting a sight as the lights of Winterfell. “We’re almost there.”

Ten feet up from the base of the butte, a large rock overhang was covered in moss, long tendrils of it nearly touching the ground. It was big enough for eight or nine men to lie comfortably, but it was too small to light a fire. He and Robb had tried it five or six years ago and had nearly set the entire forest aflame. Now, the moss was thick and heavy as he pushed it aside. “M’lady, our chamber for the evening.”

Alice raised her eyebrows, but her lips turned upward in a smile as she brushed past Theon, adopting a lofty tone and a certain sway to her hips. “I suppose this will suffice. Do be a good lad and tend to the horses.”

Theon smirked; he was finally feeling the exhaustion of this impossibly long day, and he was growing a little punch drunk. “Might I draw a hot bath for m’lady?”

Standing in the middle of their small shelter, Alice let out a small groan. “Don’t tease me, Theon. A hot bath sounds heavenly right now. A big copper tub with scented soaps from Lys…I can almost feel it.”

Theon could almost see it - the steam rising around her white shoulders, her head leaning back against the edge of a large gleaming tub that was in the center of some grandiose, fine hotel room. He blinked, and the image changed. Alice’s dark hair grew red and spiraled, the tub sank into the ground and became lined with rocks, and Ygritte’s smile mocked him from the steaming water. The little niche he’d brought Alice to suddenly felt small and cramped, and he swiped a hand in front of his eyes, wiping away the image of the lover he hated.

“Theon?” When he dropped his hand it was only Alice looking at him, her head tilted slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.” Theon shook his head, and grabbed the sleeping roll off the back of his horse. “Here, get some sleep. I’ll see to the horses.”

“Yes, boss.” Alice was quick to pull off her boots and within minutes she was curled up under the blanket, fast asleep. Theon watched her for a moment, shaking his head slightly. She’d shaken off Ramsay Bolton like he was nothing but an annoying fly, and he didn’t understand how.

* * *

Theon’s sleep was light, as it always was, so he was able to hear when Alice’s small cries started. He opened his eyes but didn’t move, just watching. She had brought her arms up in front of her face as if warding off something.

_Or someone_ , Theon thought. The expression on her still-sleeping face was one of pain, fear, terror…

“No!” The word was loud in the small space, and Theon thought for a moment she would wake herself, but no. Alice was crying now, sobbing, pleading with some unknown enemy, and Theon finally reached out to grab her shoulders.

“Alice…” She was struggling in his grasp, stronger than she looked. Theon gripped harder, shaking lightly. “Alice, wake up. Alice!” Her eyes flew open finally, wide and terrified, and for a moment Theon knew she didn’t recognize him. She tried to push at him, to push him away, but he pulled her closer, holding her against his chest. “Alice, it’s me. It’s Theon. You’re alright. Wake up now.”

She blinked again, her eyes clearing, and in the next minute she had collapsed against his chest, sobbing openly. “Uh…” Unsure what to do, Theon let her cling to him, stroking her hair gently and murmuring quietly. Quiet words and a gentle touch usually worked when he had to calm a panicky horse, so why shouldn’t they work on a crying woman? “You’re alright now. I never should’ve brought you to the Bolton’s.”

Alice lifted her head then, her eyebrows knitting together as she gave a mighty sniffle. “The Boltons? Oh- no, that wasn’t it.” She shook her head, and a lock of hair fell over her shoulder. A leftover tear rolled down her cheek and hung from her jaw. “It was something else.”

Theon brushed his thumb along her jaw, wiping away that hanging tear, and the silver trails down her cheeks. Alice turned her cheek against the palm of his hand, her thin fingers wrapping around his wrist. It felt so natural for her to be so close, for him to be holding her like he was, and Theon wondered if he wasn’t getting himself into trouble. _Am I, though_?

“Alice…”

Her eyes searched his face a moment longer, lingering on his lips while her own parted slightly, and she shook her head ruefully. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy.”

“No.” Theon shook his head. “Arya is crazy. Sansa went crazy over a member of a circus troupe that came to town a few years back. You are not crazy.”

Alice eased away from him, her fingers trailing away from his wrist, and she tucked her long legs under her. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and gazed at the tendrils of moss, swaying gently in a night breeze. “How long till dawn?”

“Hours, most like.” Theon stretched out on his back and folded his arms behind his head. “Can you sleep, d’you think? I’ve got some whiskey in my saddlebags if it’ll help.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Alice stretched out on her side to face him. “I’m a loud drunk.”

“‘s that so?” Theon grinned. “I’d like to see that sometime.”

Despite her tiredness, despite the fact that her eyes were still red and wet, Alice laughed. “No, no you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t like me very much after.”

“Oh, I’d probably like you more,” Theon replied. “Go to sleep now, though. I’ll get you drunk some other time.”

* * *

The morning sun probed at Theon’s closed eyes, calling him to wakefulness. Ygritte was curled against his side, sleeping deeply. Her head was tucked beneath his chin, her arm slung across his stomach and a leg thrown over one of his. He shifted slightly, wrapping an arm around her and brushing his fingers through her smooth, silky hair-

_Ygritte’s hair is always snarly when she wakes up. She’s damn near skewered you a dozen different times for pulling it. Ygritte’s gone, Greyjoy. You told her to go and for once in her godsdamned life she listened._

The ache that came with that thought wasn’t quite the punch to the gut it usually was, and for that Theon was thankful. He’d been throwing himself into whatever he did, working, drinking, whoring, to keep the image of her from his mind. It worked most of the time, but occasionally he’d see the sun catch Sansa or Catelyn’s hair in just a certain way, or he’d hear a bawdy, rough laugh in the saloons, and everything would come rushing back.

Not today, though. Today the only noise was birdsong, the quiet whisper of wind through the pines, the soft rush of Alice’s breath across his skin. For a long while Theon lay there, twining her black hair through his fingers, just listening to the morning. It was tranquil, this quiet. The solitude Theon was feeling was comfortable, with no one asking anything of him. Right now he could just...be.

There was a small stone cabin not far from Winterfell that Theon knew of. It had belonged to some Stark or another, years ago. Some younger brother who never married and instead took to solitude in the woods, and had died without issue. The only thing he’d left behind was this small stone cabin, a slightly larger stone barn, and maybe forty acres of land that had been left to fallow for decades. It was perfect - the cabin was sturdy and warm in the winter. The Stark who’d built it had been smart, stuffing the gap between the stone outside and in the interior walls with moss, wool, mud, horsehair and sawdust to keep out the winter cold. There was a large root cellar underneath the cabin, one that Theon, Robb, and Jon had explored at length when they were young. Before his engagement Theon had dreamed of buying the land from Ned Stark, working it with his own hands, under his own name, doing whatever he wanted with it. With each day that passed, though, that dream died a little more. He wondered if waking up there would be like waking up here - peaceful, quiet. If he ever did manage to buy the property, would he have this warm sense of...home?

One of the horses whickered and stamped a huge foot. Next to Theon, Alice jolted awake. She pushed a lock of hair out of her face, blinking blearily.. “‘s it morning so soon?”

“Nah.” Theon gave her a cocky grin, forcing thoughts of the little stone cabin to the back of his mind. “‘s just a very bright part of the night.”

Alice grinned and swatted at his chest. “Cheeky asshole.”

“Well, I never!” Theon pushed himself up on his elbows, mocking indignation. “Language, young lady!”

“Please,” Alice snorted. She rolled away from him and reached for her boots. Theon was pleased to see her shake them out before tugging them on. He’d mentioned the threat of spiders or the odd scorpion seeking shelter in boots once or twice, but seeing that it stuck made him happy. “Do I look like a proper lady to you?”

Theon took her in, the sleep lines on her face, her mussed, tangled hair, the clothes that could use a wash covering a body that could use one too…She looked beautiful. “Not in the least. A lady’d never find herself waking up next to a strange man. And she’d _certainly_ never use such language.”

“You’re no strange man.” Alice stretched, giving a mighty yawn. “I’d much rather wake up by you than by Ramsay Bolton.”

“I should hope so.” Theon was up now, rolling up his bedroll and hers. “I’d rather wake up next to a pissed-off rattlesnake than Ramsay Bolton. C’mon, let’s head home. They’re not expectin’ us back at Winterfell, so we’re in no rush.”

“Good.” Alice was on her feet now too, tying her hair back. As Theon was saddling up his mount, she stepped close to him. “I...owe you. For yesterday. And last night.”

Theon straightened, their gazes catching and holding. Her eyes were so damn _blue_. Deeper and darker than anyone’s at Winterfell, that was for sure. “Wasn’t nothin’. I did what any other decent man’d do.”

“It was everything.” Alice placed a hand on his chest, her fingers curling slightly in the fabric. Theon realized with a jolt that she _wanted_ him. That happened so rarely - he’d long since come to terms with having to pay for company when he went to the saloons, and he knew what kind of person he was, what kind of person he was seen as. He knew he was arrogant and cocky, sometimes downright mean, and most people gave him little more attention than an eyeroll. He even knew Ellie’s declarations of love were false; she didn't love him any more than he did her, but she was putting on such a show to convince herself and others that it was all legitimate.

The fact that Alice was looking at him the way she was was unnerving and upsetting. The prospect of a loveless, false face of a marriage was almost appealing right now. _At least you know what you’re getting. You know how to guard yourself._

While his mind was racing his hand was acting on its own accord. Theon had covered her hand with his, realizing how fine the bones were under her skin. He wrapped his fingers around hers and, fighting back every urge he had, whether they be to run from Alice, or to pull her down on the ground and fuck her till she screamed, gave her a cocky grin. “Alright. You owe me, then.”

* * *

That night Theon approached Ned Stark in his study. It was a small, tidy room at the far back of the house, filled with ledgers and books and the history of both the Starks, and the North. The room was dominated by a large weirwood desk, the white wood polished to a high sheen, and the wall behind it displayed a large, detailed map of the North. Theon could see the small marker where the old stone cabin was, the borders of the land. It was a quiet, somber room that the rest of the Starks very rarely entered. In fact, the door was usually closed tight when Ned was out riding. Tonight, though, the door was open a crack and Theon could see Ned at the desk, going over some figures or another. He knocked perfunctorily, and at Ned’s call, entered.

“You ran into some trouble with the Boltons.” Ned shut the book in front of him and leaned back in his chair, his grey gaze steady.

“Yessir.” Theon sat in the chair across from him. “I’ll square up with the wagon. Keep my wages until it’s paid off. It’s what’s right.”

That answer seemed to please Ned. “Consider it done. Tell me why you had to leave it there.”

Theon recounted the tale of Ramsay’s attack on Alice, and by the time he was done Ned’s brow was furrowed. “You’re sure this is what happened?”

“I am.” Theon leaned forward. “I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“I know they have a bit of a reputation but I had hoped…” Ned shook his head. “I’ll do my best to smooth it over with Roose. If they decide to press charges against Alice, it doesn’t look good for her. The Boltons have been in these parts as long as the oldest families, and Alice...not many people would take the word of a...well, a shiftless, vagrant girl over that of a long-established family.”

“Will they take my word?” Theon asked, feeling suddenly prickly. “I’m the last son of a long-established family of thieves and highway robbers. Is my word better than that of a vagrant girl? He tried to _rape_ her, Ned.”

“You’ve been living with us nearly longer than you were with your own blood. Your word would be taken the same as mine or my kin’s.” Ned folded his large hands on the smooth desktop, tan and rough against the red-veined white. “I’m sure Roose won’t want attention drawn to this incident. Wanderer or not, it was self-defense, her striking his boy. I’ll speak with him.”

The two men were silent with their thoughts for some time before Theon spoke again. “Once Robb’s healed...what’ll you do with her?”

“Alice?” Ned shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ll be leaving us soon, and if she knows the work, may as well keep her on. I know it’s unconventional, but she might be a good role model for Arya. Help rein her in a little. Why? What’s your concern with her?”

Theon shrugged. “I dunno. I just want to make sure she’s taken care of. She’s been through some things, I’d wager. More than a girl her age deserves to’ve gone through.”

Ned leaned forward. “What sort of things?”

“Dunno,” Theon replied. “I haven’t asked and she hasn’t said. But it’s just a gut feeling. Just  promise me that after I’ve left here, she’ll be taken care of. If you send her away, give her some coin and a decent mount.”  The image that came to mind, of Alice riding off to parts unknown with a purse full of coin and slumped shoulders, made Theon feel wretched. It was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling, and he fought off the urge to squirm.

Ned looked at him for a long time, and Theon wondered what thoughts were creaking to life in his mind. “I take it it would be a bad idea to suggest she go into town to find work there, at the general store, maybe. I imagine once you and Ellie start a family Ellie’ll want to be at home with your young ones.”

“No.” Theon replied immediately, his gorge rising at the thought of his children. “I mean yes. It’s a bad idea. She…” He had to pause and swallow and gather his thoughts. “She’s like me, I guess. Likes her space, and her freedom.” _And she needs to be far from me. I’ve got no problem with fucking a whore, but she’s better than that. She deserves better than that_.

“I’ll do what I can.” Ned pulled another ledger towards him and Theon knew to press the issue would be like poking a bear. “You have my word. Now, you had a long ride today. Best be off to bed.”

_I’m twenty-three years old. I don’t need anyone tell me to go to bed_ , Theon groused to himself, but Ned was right. It didn’t seem real that just yesterday he’d been a day’s ride east, surrounded by the grim squalor that surrounded the Boltons. He rose to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his stubbly jaw. Once upstairs he fell across his bed, letting his boots drop to the floor and wincing at the thuds, praying they didn’t wake Rickon and Bran. Rolling over onto his back, Theon stared at the beam of moonlight spearing the ceiling. Whereas last night it had danced in Alice’s hair, tonight it was just white, blank.

It was bleak.


	11. Chapter 11

Mya picked at her light cotton shirt, frowning at the way it clung to her skin. After a long stretch of pleasant, bright days and comfortably cool nights, a stagnant, hot spell had come to Winterfell. Every window in the house was open, but there wasn’t even a ghost of a breeze. The curtains hung lank and motionless, and the horses flicked flies away, irritable at the heat. The children finished their chores as early as they could, before the heat grew to be too much, and then were off to the swimming hole to try to find some relief. Mya was jealous.

"I've half a mind to join them today," Roslin said, fanning herself with a plate after breakfast. She was cleaning up as Mya packed leftovers into bags for her and Theon to take with them when they rode today. Roslin looked out the kitchen window, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "It never even got this thick down at home. Mercy."

Mya smiled, slipping a few apples into one of the bags. _That ought to keep Theon happy. He likes these._

"Well, you're 'bout all done here,” she said to Roslin. “Mr. and Mrs. Stark are off in town. Go on with them. And take Robb while you're at it. He could use some fun, after..."

Roslin glanced around the small room, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "I've _never_ heard two people fight like he and Jeyne did...'specially so close to their wedding."

"I know." Mya shook her head grimly. Not three days ago Jeyne had been at the ranch, like usual, and she and Robb had gone to take a look at the old servants' quarters that was being converted into a house for them to live in. According to Roslin, not twenty minutes later Jeyne had stormed out of the house in tears. Jeyne and Robb had been fighting for weeks, confessed to Roslin later. She had been trying to convince Robb to leave the north with her for Oldtown. Robb, so far, was resisting.

“It’s just cold feet,” Roslin was saying now as she set a cup on a shelf to dry. “It happens to every woman. Most of my older sisters went through it. I imagine I will too, when my time comes.”

“Tell that to Robb.” Mya slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’d best be off. Theon’s waiting and he gets impatient easily.”

Roslin smiled, and Mya thought for a moment she looked like the cat who ate the canary. “You behave around him, y’hear?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mya kept her tone light, but felt her defenses rising. Ever since the incident at the Boltons, something had shifted between Theon and her. He’d become...nicer to her. He was more willing to laugh and joke with her, and lectured her less. Sometimes she caught him just watching her and, well, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t like it. And sometimes, their hands would brush against each other in a way that couldn’t be an accident, or his fingers would rest at the small of her back as they left a room. Mya’d tried to convince herself he was just being polite, but ‘polite’ and ‘Theon Greyjoy’ didn’t seem to go hand-in-hand. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

“Nothing!” Roslin’s sparkling brown eyes were wide. “I just mean...well, honestly, I don’t know how you do it. Jeyne and Ellie and I were talking after church last week and they’re just scandalized that you’re off riding like this, and overnight too!”

Mya fought off the urge to roll her eyes. “Please. Someone’s got to do it. Bran’s too young still. Mr. Stark’s got business in town. Jon’s helping Robb with fixing up the house. There’s no one else.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me. I don’t have a problem with it. Just some of the girls in town. I know you’re not there very often…” Roslin’s tone was tentative. “Next time you go there though...they might stare.”

“Oh, let them stare.” _They’ve been staring for years._ “Now, I’ve got to be off. You go on, take Robb down to the swimming hole. See if you can’t cheer him up.”

Theon was waiting for her outside the barn, Smiler and Midnight both saddled up and ready to go. He’d splashed some cool water from the pump on his face, and it dribbled down his neck and chest. Mya’s stomach flipflopped when he swept his hair back. “About time, you.” He took the bag of supplies Mya held out to him and swung up on to Smiler. “You all set?”

“Of course I am.” She mounted Midnight, adjusting her kerchief. They were headed out to one of the far northern pastures to check up on the fences. It wasn’t a field that was used often, and as such, often fell to disrepair. Theon had told her they would camp out there that night, and the next if need be, and Mya was looking forward to it. The night they’d fled from the Boltons’ had been rougher than she’d expected it would be. Though she’d been exhausted, her sleep had been wracked with nightmares. Not of Ramsay, but of her son.

She’d just turned fourteen when her monthly cycles had stopped, and by the time Lysa found out it had been too late to force moon tea on her. She had beat Mya instead, furious with her. No one would want a pregnant whore, she’d screamed. She’d nearly cast Mya out entirely, but Petyr had drawn Lysa into his office and when they emerged, Petyr told her she wouldn’t be going anywhere. They would pay for her care, but she would have to work to pay it off. It didn’t matter to Mya; she was stuck in the brothel for the foreseeable future anyway. The nights that she had lay curled around her belly, terrified for their future, her and her child, the only thing that would calm her was the idea of getting out someday, running far, far away where she could raise her baby, where she could love it and give it a better life than she’d ever have. She had stopped going to school at twelve, when she’d been sold to the brothel, so her knowledge of reading and numbers were still those of a child, but she could do the washing well enough, and she had always enjoyed trying to cook. She could run and find work, honest work. Respectable work.

Her labor had started at the end of fall, and had lasted two days and two nights. Mya remembered very little of it, only the sick, sweet smell of chloroform and the gagging taste of medicines that were being poured down her throat. _It’s a mercy_ , she had always told herself. She didn’t want to remember. She had decided it would be better to run after she’d had her baby. It would make it harder for people to turn out a young, single mother with no coin than it would a pregnant, unwed girl. Only...

Her son had been born dead, the doctor said. They hadn’t let her see him, and that was what Mya remembered: the sight of Lysa leaving the room, clutching a still, swaddled bundle. That’s what she dreamed about now, screaming for Lysa to bring her her boy, to at least let her see him. Her cries went ignored. When she pleaded for them to tell her where her baby had been buried, she’d been brushed aside. It didn’t matter, they said. He was a whore’s mistake.

She had tried to console herself with the thought that he’d never been hungry or scared, would never feel afraid or cold, and that the only sound he’d ever known was her heartbeat. It brought some solace, but not nearly enough. _I was supposed to be able to hug him, to kiss his skinned knees and tell him bedtime stories. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. He didn’t even get a proper grave._ Mya had gone to the graveyard once, months after her son’s death. There were no small stones bearing her last name, no little seven-pointed stars to mark a little coffin. There was no mark the boy had ever existed.

“What’s wrong?” Theon asked her, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Huh?” She started in her saddle. They had been riding for hours, and Mya had let her mind wander back to her blood-soaked birthing bed. It was a dangerous place, but one that her mind invariably wondered to at least once a day.

“I dunno, you look...lost.” Theon shrugged. “Sad.”

“‘s nothin’,” Mya replied. She wrapped her reins around her saddle horn so she could stretch her arms high over her head. Her spine popped all up and down, and she let out a small moan. “Gods above, I’ve needed that.”

“I bet you have.” Theon’s grin was a little lecherous, and Mya laughed. “Sleeping on the ground’s better for your back than those cushy beds back home.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Mya smirked and took up her reins again. “Nothing screams comfort like using a rock for a pillow.”

“Well, I was going to let you use my saddle blanket, but if that’s your attitude…” Theon winked, his expression as carefree as it usually was then they were riding. “C’mon, we’re nearly there. Let’s let them stretch their legs a bit. There’s a cold spring a few miles up. Last one there guts supper!” Digging his heels into Smiler’s sides, he shot off down the path ahead of Mya.

“Hey!” she shouted, spurring Midnight on. Theon’s laugh floated over his shoulder, and Mya grinned, leaning low over Midnight’s gleaming neck. It felt good to just give the mare her head and _run_. If she could run forever...She could feel her fears slipping away, her grief subsiding, the images of her boy, abandoned and cold under the ground dimming.

They pounded over the wide, flat plain, the horse leaping over small boulders that Mya didn’t even see and sending the occasional rabbit or meadowlark scattering. Theon was still ahead of them, occasionally glancing back.

“C’mon!” he was yelling. “I thought you were getting better at riding!”

Mya laughed again and flicked the reins. Midnight snorted and dug in deeper, long legs pounding rhythmically. Smiler was still ahead of them, but the gap was closing as their path curved across the field. At the far end of it, a group of large, flat rocks rose up out of the soil. As Mya got closer she could see clear water bubbling out of the center of them. A few scrub trees had made a valiant effort to grow, but the summer heat was wilting them, and Mya doubted they’d last the winter.

Theon had reigned Smiler to a stop and was leaning against one of the rocks when Mya rode up. “Tough break, kid,” he smirked, pushing his hat back. “Next time, I’ll give you a head start and maybe you’ll stand a chance.”

“What’re you talking about?” Mya swung down off of Midnight, eyeing the rocks. Up close, the tallest rose about fifteen or twenty feet. All of them were bleached and warm from the sun, worn smooth by time and wind. A few tufts of some strong-willed grass grew up between a few of them. From here Mya could hear the water bubbling and flowing “You said to the cold spring. You look mighty dry there, cowboy.”

Before Theon could respond Mya leapt past him, scampering up the pile of rocks with a laugh. She heard him shout he grabbed her ankle, but it was easy as pie to slip out of his grasp. Climbing was surprisingly easy; her fingers seemed to be able to just find the next handhold, and her feet never slipped. Theon was right behind her, both of them laughing as they climbed higher and higher. Mya slipped between two stones and had almost reached the spring when Theon caught up to her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, they tumbled to the warm rocks in a tangle of limbs.

Mya was breathless from laughing. Squirming around, she found herself astride him, her chest pressing against his, his hands resting on the small of her back. The breath went out of her at the sight of him beneath her, the feel of him against her. Their faces were inches apart, and Mya found herself unwilling to move. Theon’s hand drifted up her back, brushing a loose lock of hair off her face. Mya’s eyes nearly drifted shut at how good it felt to be touched like this. She’d been craving this, craving _him_ , since...she didn’t even know when anymore. She traced her finger over his cheekbone, wanting desperately to stop, but also wanting to go on. Theon’s hand curled around the back of her neck, drawing her closer.

“Wait,” she breathed. Theon’s hands tightened, one at the back of her neck, one splayed hot on her back. “Please. This isn’t right. Ellie...”

A flurry of emotions washed over Theon’s face: surprise, anger, resentment, but he remained silent. After a long moment, he heaved a sigh and released her. Mya slid off of him, curling her legs under her. Theon sat up, his hands dangling between his knees while he stared off at the mountains, made hazy by the thickness of the hot summer air. His fingers twitched restlessly, and the silence stretched between them for miles.

Finally Theon stood, brushing off his chaps. “Alright, let’s get to work. I saw the fence came down in a few places. I put a hammer and nails in your saddlebags. Go get ‘em. And hurry up. It’s fixin’ to storm here by nightfall.”

Mya’s heart sank. Theon’s tone was brusque and hard as it had been when they first started working together. He wasn’t looking at her as he grabbed his canteen and dunked it in the cold spring. She glanced up at the sky as she slid down off the boulders. The sky was the color of a cataract, the clouds, while not dark, were ominous and discontent. The wind was coming in small, hot puffs, like the breath of some unseen giant pushing across the tall grasses. “The sky looks... _queer_.”

“I know,” Theon replied matter-of-factly as he jumped down next to her. “Told you it was gonna storm, didn’t I? Now, go on and get those supplies like I told you.”

Mya bowed her head and did as she was told. They worked through the afternoon, hoisting up pieces of fence where it had fallen. She’d hold it into place as best she could, and Theon would fix it into place with rope or nails. They worked in an uneasy silence, with their glances just missing each other. She wondered what he was thinking, if it was about her. _Don’t flatter yourself_.

The afternoon crept on, and gradually the wind died down. Smiler and Midnight plodded along with them placidly enough, but as the heat built throughout the day they grew uneasy. Mya patted Midnight on the neck, wrinkling her nose a bit at the way the mare was sweating. Thunder grumbled in the distance, and Midnight snorted nervously. Mya glanced up and swallowed. The clouds gathering in the distance had turned a sickly blackish green, roiling and piling on top of each other. Lightning flickered, and when another gust of wind came it was warm and smelled of rain and earth.

“Easy, sweetheart,” she said softly. “It’s just a little rain, alright?” Midnight planted her muzzle in Mya’s palm and whickered, and Mya glanced at Theon, her stomach knotting. “Right? Just rain?”

Theon gazed at the sky for a long while, his grey eyes flicking and forth. His lips pressed together, and after a moment he bent to collect his hammer and a few stray nails. When he straightened his expression was grim. “Y’ever been in a twister?”

Mya’s stomach lurched and dropped at the same time. “A twister?”

“Ayep.”  Theon was moving faster now, tucking things away. “We’re gonna see one. Soon, I’d wager. Get a leg up there. It’s time we found shelter.”

“A _twister_?” Mya was rooted to the spot in fear. She’d heard stories of tornadoes, the destruction they wrought, but she’d never actually _been_ in one. Just the thought made a cold sweat drip down her neck.

Theon, about to mount Smiler, pulled his foot out of the stirrup and crossed to her. “You listen to me,” he said. His voice was quiet, but calming. “You’ve never been in one, right?” When Mya jerked her head, he nodded and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll be just fine. I’ve seen my fair share of ‘em, ‘specially up in these parts, and they’ve never hurt me. This one won’t hurt you neither. All you gotta do is mount up and follow me, y’hear?”

“Where’re we gonna go?”

“There’s all sorts of places, little homesteads, left over from...gods, years ago. We can’t be too far from one’a them.” Thunder boomed, louder this time, and Theon glanced over Mya’s head and then back at her. His hands slid up her neck, cupping her face, and he held her gaze with his own. “No more questions now, alright? Just go where I go. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mya could barely hear her own voice, it was so tight and strained. His clear eyes held hers, and she clung to the way her heart clenched.

The rain started to fall as she mounted Midnight and set off at a dead run, following Theon and Smiler across the fields to where the woods started. By the time the dark pines enveloped them the rain was lashing across her face, plastering her hair to her forehead. The winds whipped through the trees, bowing and bending them every which way. Day had turned to night, and Mya swiped her hand across her eyes to try and keep Theon in view.

Lightning cracked overhead. Mya crouched low over Midnight’s neck. Theon was just a few yards ahead of her, weaving between the trees like he knew where he was going. _Please, let him know where he’s going_. Behind her she could hear branches cracking like gunshots, a low roar and the rush of entire trees being ripped down. Her heart pounded in her ears, keeping time with Midnight’s hooves. Risking a glance towards the sky, Mya felt faint. The angry, black clouds were tinted red from the distant setting sun, and the way they were swirling and spinning looked like the gods themselves were coming after her. There was another crack of thunder, and hail started to fall. It was small at first, pea-sized pellets. It grew and grew, bigger than a walnut, bigger than a lemon. It was like being pelted with rocks - Mya could feel welts rising on her and knew she’d have bruises at the very least.

Faintly she heard Theon shouting. Squinting through the driving rain, she could see a few dark, lurking shapes in a small clearing. In the next flash of lightning her heart soared - Theon had found one of the abandoned homesteads he’d talked about. She gave Midnight a firm kick, following Theon through the storm into the clearing. There was a small, leaning cabin, shutters banging loose in the wind, and a squat, half-tumbled down barn. Theon rode Smiler right into the barn, ducking low to avoid cracking his head on the door frame. Needing no encouragement, Midnight followed.

The rain and wind were immediately muffled, and Mya’s skin was tingling where the hailstones had hit her. She fared better than Theon, though. When she dismounted she saw his face was covered in blood from a gash in his forehead, and his shirt was torn at the collar. There was already a large, raised bruise forming just above his collarbone. The second Mya’s feet touched the ground he grabbed her, pulling her towards a door next to a stack of rusted, forgotten farm equipment.

“In here!” He had to shout to be heard. The low roar that had followed them was nearly deafening now, the sound of a locomotive bearing down on them. Forcing the door open, he nearly threw Mya into the small room. Theon pulled the door shut, holding it shut against the wind that invaded the barn. It screamed and whooped, the sound of wood beams cracking all around them. “That shovel! Give it here!”

Mya tossed him the shovel. He wedged it across the rattling door, and before Mya knew what was what he’d pulled her down onto the floor, his body heavy on top of hers. They clung together while the world came apart around them. The wind shrieked. The frail wooden door started to splinter, and Mya felt her body being lifted from the floor. She screamed, Theon’s arms tightening around her as if he could anchor them both to the ground. _We’re going to die and they’ll never find us…_

Then, as if it had never happened, the winds quieted, slowed. Mya became aware of the ground, cold and wet beneath her, and Theon, hot and trembling, above her. “Is it done?” she asked, amazed that her voice hadn’t been sucked out of her. “Is it over?”

“I think so.” Theon pushed himself off her and stood, extending a hand to help her up. Her heart was pounding, her legs rubber. “You alright?”

Mya nodded, dashing a hand under her eyes. “I am. You took a few knocks though…” Almost tentatively she reached up, brushing his hair away from the cut on his forehead. “You’re hurt.”

Theon shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’.” He didn’t flinch away from her touch, but after a moment he blinked as if he’d suddenly remembered something.

“Hellfire, Smiler!” He clambered over the shattered door, stumbling into the small barn. Mya followed, her heart in her throat at what she would find. The barn was in shambles. Planks of wood were missing, huge gaps letting in the steadily-falling rain. Most of the roof was gone, chunks of debris and torn leaves floating down from the stormy sky. The door was a twisted wreck, not helped by the frantic horses racing around in the small, cluttered space. Midnight’s eyes were wide and rolling, her hooves skittering across the ground.

“Oh, honey…” Mya took a step towards the horse but Theon held her back.

“Let me. They’re terrified. Last thing you wanna do is be on the business end of one of their kicks.”

It was a matter of minutes before Theon had calmed Smiler. He moved slowly, keeping his voice low, and eventually was able to take the reins. Once Midnight saw the stallion calm, she was easy to soothe. Theon leaned his head against Smiler’s muzzle, stroking his sweaty neck. “There ya go, buddy. You’re fine. You’re just fine. Let’s get you and your lady out of here.”

Outside, the trees surrounding the clearing were twisted and broken, and the forest smelled of fresh-cut wood. Rain was still falling, albeit gently now, the wind a mere breeze. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but this was no more than a mere summer storm now. The cabin seemed to have escaped damage. A few broken branches rested on the roof, and the outside walls were splattered with mud, but it was still standing.

Mya stroked Midnight’s silky neck as she and Theon took in the damage. “What’re we gonna do now?”

Theon sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “The barn’s not safe. We’ll tie ‘em to the porch here, hobble ‘em, spend the night inside.”

Mya glanced at the sky, now a flat, even grey as the day started to draw to a close. “What if it comes back?” Her voice sounded smaller and more scared than she would’ve liked.

“It won’t.” Theon shook his head. “C’mon, I haven’t shown you how to hobble a horse yet…”

* * *

The cabin had been neglected and empty for years, but it would serve for the night. A stack of chopped wood lay next to the fireplace. Other than that, there was a table missing a leg, 3 broken chairs, 2 intact ones, and a lumpy bed pushed against a wall. It had the sweet, mouldering smell of decay, and the floor was covered in dead leaves.

Theon dropped their saddlebags in a heap, looking around. “‘s not the _worst_ place I ever bedded down…”

“It’s got a roof.” Mya rubbed her arms. It was colder in here than it was outside. “Can we start a fire?”

“Sure.” Theon nodded at the broken chairs and tossed her a flint out of one of the saddlebags. “That oughta be enough there.” While Mya fiddled with the flint he sank onto the edge of the bed, kicking off his boots and looking utterly exhausted. He’d pulled a flask out of somewhere, and he put his lips to it, taking a long swallow while she watched. He held it out to her. “Want some?”

Mya rose to her feet, feeling half a hundred aches and bruises as she did. “‘m not thirsty.” She nodded at his head. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it had left his face half-red. “Let me clean that out…”

“Y’ain’t cleaning that out with my whiskey, missy.” Theon tucked the flask away. “Canteen’s in the saddlebag if you really want.”

“I do. You look like a Wildling. Now hold still.” Fishing the canteen and a rag out, Mya poured some water on the cloth and applied it to Theon’s forehead. “That hurt?”

“Mm-mm.” Theon shook his head, his eyes drifting shut. “Feels good, actually.”

“Good.” Mya said softly. She tilted his face up, gently wiping away blood and dirt, turning him this way and that. He leaned into her touch, his face going slack, and Mya wondered if he was falling asleep. She dabbed off his neck, using slow, gentle strokes. When she’d been a whore sometimes she’d get lucky, and her customers had only wanted a bath with a pretty girl. Those had been her favorites. She’d take care of them, wash their travel and weariness away, give them some semblance of comfort. It made her feel like she was worth something.

Standing there, in the middle of a ramshackle cabin with a weak fire flickering, she wondered what she would’ve done if Theon had strode into her brothel, all cocksure and charming. What would’ve happened if he’d paid to come to her bed? Would his smile have made her stomach flip over the way it did? Would she feel weak in the knees at his laugh? Would his touch, no matter how fleeting, set her heart racing? Mya gazed down at Theon, gently tracing his features. He let out a small groan when she brushed his hair back again, his hands sliding up to rest at her hips. His thumbs moved in small circles over the small of her back, subtly tugging her closer to him. His hands were hot through her wet shirt, firm and steady. _How is he not scared? We nearly died just now..._

They stayed like that for a few minutes while she turned things over in her mind. It wouldn’t be right for her to have him. That much she knew. But...was it right for any of the men who’d paid for her? How many of them were married or engaged, or sworn to the Faith? How many of them had seen her and decided she would scratch their itch for the night? Wasn’t it her turn? Why couldn’t she have what she wanted, just this once? Hadn’t she _earned_ this? Before Mya really knew what she was doing, she leaned down and kissed him.

Theon inhaled sharply. His hands tightened at her waist, one slipping up her back. After a moment he pulled away. His eyes were open and bright in the firelight, his lips slightly parted. His expression was unreadable and Mya froze, certain she’d crossed a line.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

When he finally did speak, Theon’s voice was husky. “Stop sayin’ that.” He pulled her down to straddle his lap, his hands slipping under her shirt as their lips met again and again. She whimpered; she couldn’t help it. His palms were warm and calloused, rough against her skin when they cupped her breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples, and her hips ground down hard against his. He was already hard, and she could feel the heat emanating from him.

“Godsdamn…” He moaned against her lips. In response she nipped at his lower lip, tugging at his shirt. In the blink of an eye it was off, joined shortly by hers. His skin was hot against hers, and it felt so good. So right. Mya wanted to take her time, to explore Theon’s body, but she wanted him in her, wanted to feel as close to him as she could. Her hands fumbled with his fly, freeing him from his trousers. He hissed when she wrapped her fingers around him, his cock throbbing in her hand. He cursed again, pulling her down onto the bed, both of them struggling with their clothes until finally, he pushed her thighs apart and guided himself into her.

The feel of him took her breath away. Having a man inside her wasn’t anything new, but it had been months since she’d been with anyone. And she wanted Theon, truly wanted him. She trailed her fingers up his back as he moved in her, letting her body match his rhythm. Their coupling quickly grew faster, more frantic. Her body craved his touch. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer. Theon’s head dropped to the curve of her neck, his lips picking out her pulse. Her back arched, and he grunted something unintelligible against her skin. Their movements were growing erratic, a warm pressure building steadily in her belly. Mya tightened her legs around Theon’s hips, flipping them so she was once again on top. They both cried out as she sank even further onto him. He seized her hips, gripping them hard enough to bruise, driving up into her. His teeth were gritted, bared in some kind of feral pleasure.

He came without warning - another harsh cry, the feel of him swelling deep within her. The way he ground against her brought on Mya’s own orgasm, and she let it wash over her. It was such a sweet bliss exploding through her that she didn’t even try to stop her cries. She writhed on him, her mind deliciously blank. His touch gave her small bursts of pleasure as she began to regain her senses. When Mya opened her eyes she saw Theon watching her, gazing at her like he’d never seen her before. She felt suddenly shy, and when she went to cross her arms over her chest he caught her hands.

“Don’t,” he said softly, drawing them away from her chest. His eyes roved her body, his gaze as tangible as his touch. There was something unexpectedly tender there, something Mya hadn’t seen before. _Not like this. He’s never looked at me like this_. She didn’t want him to stop. Theon pulled her down, tunnelling his fingers through her messy hair. For a long moment they lay there, entwined in each other, and nothing else seemed to exist. Finally Theon cleared his throat, and when he spoke next he sounded more like himself.

“You can’t ride a man like that and then act the bashful maiden.” Mya buried her face against his shoulder, her cheeks burning. She _should’ve_ acted the bashful maiden, pretended to be unsure of what she was doing, not hopped on like the whore she was. He pried her face away, looking at her in the firelight. “Why?”

Mya swallowed hard. She knew the question that was coming, and she had no idea how to answer. All her bravado that had led to this was drying on her thighs, leaving behind a scared, uncertain girl. “Why what?”

“Why now? You were pushing me away hours ago. What changed?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged and cast around for a reasonable excuse. “I just realized...with the twister and everything, if I died tonight, the last man to touch me would’ve been Ramsay Bolton. And…” she trailed off, gazing into the fireplace, unsure of how to continue.

Theon nudged her side. “And what?”

She looked back up at him, her heart pounding. What would he say if she poured her heart out to him now? Could she handle him pushing her away? _Don’t. Spare yourself_.  “I wanted to.”

He smirked after a minute, shifting on the lumpy mattress and folding one arm behind his head. The other he wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his side. “Understandable. C’mon. May as well get comfortable.”

* * *

The next morning wasn’t as awkward as Mya feared. The hot, oppressive air had been swept away by the storm, replaced by the cool, soft air she was used to. She woke up wrapped in Theon’s arms, her head tucked underneath his chin. Her stirring awoke Theon, who grinned a little blearily at her.

“Mornin’, you,” he said.

“Mornin’,” Mya replied. Her stomach felt jumpy, as if she was an actress who’d forgotten her lines in the middle of the show. Her old clients usually dressed and left in the dark pre-dawn hours, leaving a pile of coins and cash on her dresser. “Should we start heading back, or…?”

“Mmmm, not yet.” Theon pulled her beneath him, his thigh slipping between hers. He was hard, his body warm and comfortable with sleep, and Mya smiled.

This time they took their time, exploring each others’ bodies, teasing, bringing each other closer and closer time and time again. When they finally came, it was together.

“I gotta say,” Theon mumbled, his lips pressed against her neck. “‘s a fantastic way to wake up.”

Mya laughed. “Beats Roslin’s snoring.”

Theon propped himself up on his elbows, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. He was gazing down at her like he had before, idly tracing her features. She looked back up at him, wondering what he was thinking, and if he was going to regret this. Turning her face into his palm, she kissed the heel of his hand and hoped he wouldn’t.

“Alice?”

That was all it took for Mya’s insides to curdle. She wanted to hear Theon say her name, her _real_ name. She forced herself to smile coyly. “Yes?”

“Think you can ride? We probably should start home.”

“Of course I can ride.”

Theon smirked, ducking his head to kiss her quickly. “‘Course you can. That was a stupid question.” Rolling off of her, he tugged her up and patted her rump. “C’mon, best get dressed.”

It was quick work to find their clothes and mount up. Smiler and Midnight were calm and eager to get back on the road, tossing their heads. They made quick time through the forest, easily leaping over fallen trees and branches. The closer they got to Winterfell, the less damaged the forest was. Clearly the tornado hadn’t made it this far south, and that was comforting. The thought of the Starks, _her_ Starks, as she was starting to think of them, in danger, was a dark, cold thought and one that had no place on this peaceful morning.

As they emerged from the woods into the wide, green field that Winterfell occupied, Mya’s smile faded. A compact grey horse was tied to the post outside the house. She glanced at Theon, whose face was tight and grim again. “It’s a little early for callers, don’t you think?”

“That’s Doc Luwin’s mare.” Theon replied. His face was tight, his lips pressed together. “He’s got no reason to be out here this early, unless…” The front door flew open, and a tall, slender figure stumbled down the porch steps, running towards them. Theon squinted, then twitched Smiler’s reins. “That’s Sansa. Something’s wrong…” He put his heels to the stallion, and the beast leapt forward. Mya followed, her heart in her throat.

Sansa was in tears when they rode up to her, her face blotchy and wet. “It’s horrible!” she sobbed. Theon dismounted and caught her as she stumbled. “Oh Theon, it’s just awful…”

“What?” Theon gripped her arms, giving her a firm shake. “What happened? Is it Robb?”

“N-no…” Sansa shook her head and took a gulping, hitching breath. “It’s Ellie...she’s dead, Theon.” 


	12. Chapter 12

Theon took a step back from Sansa, stunned. Glancing over at Alice, he saw she’d gone white as a sheet. Sansa gave a mighty sniffle, drawing his attention back to her. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, trying to find words. _Ellie’s dead_. The words bounced around his skull, echoing interminably. “How?”

Sansa’s eyes welled up again. “She was crossing the street early this morning, goin’ to open up the store. A horse...broke loose from its wagon. It was dark, they think she didn’t see it...it ran her down.” Her shoulders were trembling. “Doc Luwin just rode out to tell us.”

“Goddamn,” Theon breathed. It was all he could think to say. His mind was reeling. “The wedding…”

“Oh Theon, I know.” Sansa squeezed his arm, her eyes overflowing again. “Is there anything I can get you? Some water?”

He shook his head, glancing back at Alice. She was standing stock-still, her lips slightly parted. _She’s lookin’ to pass out_. “Nah, I’m fine. I’ll be right in. Just...uh... let me see to the horses. Then I”ll clean up and head in to see her folks.” He grabbed Smiler’s reins and jerked his head at Alice. “C’mon.”

In the barn Theon unsaddled Smiler methodically, trying to wrap his head around the last twenty-four hours. _All we were s’posed to do was ride up and fix the fences. And now Ellie’s dead and you’re free. You’re_ free. A pang of guilt twisted through him at the thought. An innocent, by all accounts sweet girl, was dead and the only thing he could think of was how happy he was he didn’t have to marry her anymore. _‘S not your fault. You didn’t kill her. You didn’t release that horse. You were miles away root-deep in Alice_.

Now that the numb shock was wearing off, Theon was being filled with a sweet relief unlike anything he’d ever known. He was free, free to do whatever he wanted. He could ride into town and move into that godsdamn brothel if he wanted. Taking a deep breath, he slipped Smiler’s bridle off and rubbed the stallion’s cheek in a way the horse liked. His large dark, liquid eyes gleamed in the low light of the barn, and if Theon could’ve whooped with a happy laugh, he would’ve. He was able to stand up straight without feeling like he had a weight around his neck. 

Glancing into the stall next to Smiler’s, his smile faded. Alice was still white as a sheet. Her hands were trembling as she lifted Midnight’s saddle, and her cheeks were wet from crying. Their eyes met and held for a moment, and Theon felt his joy tamped down just a little. Patting Smiler on the rump, he slid the stall door shut and stepped into Midnight’s. He reached out and took the saddle from Alice before she dropped it, draping it over the stall door. Turning back to her, he brushed the tears off her cheek.

“You alright?” _Of course she’s not, you ass. She liked Ellie. Everyone liked Ellie_.

Alice’s face crumbled, and she buried her face against his chest. Her tears were warm through his shirt. When he wrapped his arms around her it felt...natural. She fit so well against him. He couldn't help to think of the night before. Hell, even that morning...the sun had filtered in through the admittedly grimy window, playing off her fair, smooth skin. It had even made the bruises from the hailstones dim somewhat, and something about their coupling...Theon couldn’t put his finger on it but it was good. Damn good. Better than the whores in town, anyway. He rested his chin in her hair and her arms went around his waist. She’d given him what he needed the night before, and he’d thought that would be that.

She was speaking, he realized suddenly, her words muffled. “We did this. It’s our fault.”

“What? No…” Theon pried her tear-stained face away from his chest. “Listen, Alice, we didn’t do this. This wasn’t us, y’hear?”

“But we spent the night together and you’re hers, not mine, and if I hadn’t-” her voice hitched. “If I hadn’t kissed you we never would’ve done that and she wouldn’t’ve died and-”

Theon didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to acknowledge the way Alice’s words were pricking holes in his relief and causing his gut to twist, so he shut her up the only way he knew how to shut a woman up, save slapping her: he kissed her. She was silenced with a small whimper, her hands brushing against his face, clasping around the back of his neck. He’d intended for it to be a quick peck, just to stop that flow of words, but his hands tightened around her waist of their own accord. Before he really knew what was happening he had her pressed against the side of the stall, their bodies flush against each other. He would’ve had her then and there had they not been interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

Alice jerked and pushed him away from her, her eyes wide as she stared over Theon’s shoulder. As soon as he let her go, she darted out of the stall, her head down as she brushed past Jon Snow. He stood outside the stall, arms crossed, his eyebrows cocked slightly. Theon wanted to punch him square in his smug face. Instead he straightened his trousers and lifted his chin. “What?”

“Nothin’.” Jon’s tone was as smug as his face. “I was just comin’ down here to see if you wanted me to look after your ride while you went into town to see the Tyrells. But it seems you’ve got your ride well in hand. Nice to see you and Alice getting on so well, too.”

Theon didn’t know how, but the next thing he knew he had slammed Jon up against the same stall wall he’d had Alice against, fisting one hand in Jon’s shirt, the other dropping to his holster.

“Whatever I do with her ain’t none of your business, understand?” His words were a snarl. Jon had always been a splinter under his fingernail. He knew the feeling was mutual. They’d only ever pretended to get along for Robb’s sake, and every time Jon rode out on the range or headed up to ride with the Wall Theon felt like he could breathe a little easier.

Jon had been caught unawares, Theon saw with satisfaction. Theon had never been this openly hostile towards him. Sure, they’d had their schoolyard scuffles when they were boys, but neither of them had ever drawn their gun on the other like Theon was about to do here. He held up both hands, his expression incredulous. “What the Hell-”

“You let her be, y’understand?” Theon didn’t honestly think Jon was interested in Alice. He’d never courted a girl, and the few times he’d gone to the brothel with Theon, Jon had spent his time dallying around with some giggly blonde girl with tits the size of his head on his lap. _Never took her upstairs, though, did he_. Alice simply wasn’t his type. _What’s it to you if she is, anyway_? Sure, she’d given him comfort for a night and kept his bed warm, but that’s all it was. _Isn’t it_?

“Fine, fine. Calm down, wouldjya? Gods’ sake…”

Theon released Jon and stepped back, stalking out of the stall and towards the door. Jon’s damn dog was in the aisle, white and red-eyed in the dim light. He bared his teeth but, as always, remained silent. _He’d make a good winter coat if I ever got close enough to him_. “Leave her alone. And don’t touch my horse.”

When Theon got to the house there was a quiet murmur of conversation in the sitting room, but it stopped dead as he entered. A handful of Stark heads, plus one Frey, swiveled around to gawp at him and he stopped short, wanting to back straight out of the room. Alice wasn’t among them, and he wondered briefly where she’d skittered off to. Ned was the first to speak, his voice rumbling low. “We’re all sorry, Theon. This is a tragedy.”

Theon jerked his head in something like a nod. Something about Ned’s tone suggested that he was reminding Theon that yes, this in fact was a tragedy and that whatever glee he’d felt was ill-placed. “I was ‘bout to get myself cleaned up and head into town...reckon her folks’ll want to see me.”

“Reckon so.” Ned nodded, his hand on Catelyn’s shoulder. “We’ll be along to see them as well, but likely not till this afternoon or t’morrow. We’re not family like you nearly were. Wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“I’ll go with you,” Robb offered to Theon. “We’ll have to take a wagon though. Doc Luwin’ll string me up if he catches me ridin’.”

“Fine,” Theon replied mechanically, weaving around Bran and Rickon and heading for the stairs. “Give me a few minutes.”

* * *

Eyes followed him as the wagon plodded into town, and conversation stopped. The road was thick mud from last night’s storms, and the only sounds were the creaking wheels and a wet sucking sound as the horses pulled their hooves up with every step. Theon hunched over in the driver’s seat, resolutely keeping his gaze ahead. He didn’t know if those eyes were full of pity or scorn or mere curiosity, but he wasn’t in any mood to find out.  He twitched the reins, and the horses kept on.

The Tyrells lived in a modest two-story house that belied their wealth. It stood a few blocks from the general store. Theon left Robb to tend to the wagon while he climbed down. A flock of neighbors hovered around the front door, though they parted in somber silence to let him through. Someone had hung black bunting on the front door as a sign of the family’s mourning, and the curtains were all drawn.

The door opened at his knock, and Theon felt like he had weights tied around his ankles as he entered. Margaery closed the door behind him, her pretty face wet with tears. Without a word she led him into the parlor, where Ellie’s parents and brother were. Standing in the doorway, Theon could feel the grief coming off them in waves. Ellie’s father gazed unseeing into the cold fireplace, while her mother fiddled with a frothing heap of white lace and frills. Ellie’s younger brother was still as stone next to her. Ellie’s mother looked up, and Theon swallowed hard at the expression on her face. He’d never seen someone in so much pain, hadn’t even known it was possible.

“Her wedding dress,” she said tearfully, gesturing to the fabric in her lap. “She was almost done with it and I...I figured she ought to be buried in it…so she could wear it at least once...my little girl...” Her words were choked off, and she doubled over on the couch, burying her face in her hands as her sobs renewed themselves.

Ellie’s father turned from the fireplace, kneeling briefly to embrace his wife and son when the boy also crumbled. The sad tableau held for a moment before he stood. His grief seemed to be beyond tears as he shook Theon’s hand. “It’s good of you to come. I’ve sent a telegram to your father and uncles, letting them know.

“I…” Theon didn’t know what to say. Being here, seeing this family so shattered, made him feel like a slab of rotted meat. Sure, Ellie’s death was a relief to him but these people had loved her. _And now they’ll bury her_. He knew his father and uncles wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about Ellie, and whatever words of sympathy they’d send wouldn’t be worth the telegram paper they’d arrive on. “Of course. I’m awful sorry.”

His words sounded trite, and when Margaery returned with Robb, Theon was relieved. Robb was able to make the quiet, appropriate small talk, and he was allowed to sit in one of the arm chairs and look somber. After too short a time, though, his mind began to wander back to that morning and the night before, and the small cries Alice had made while he was in her. He’d fucked his fair share of women to be sure, but they all seemed the same to him in the end. _Except Ygritte…and Alice_.

She was different than Ygritte had been. Ygritte had always wanted control, and had always wanted to tell him what to do, how to do it, and when. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, Theon reflected, but he was a man, for the gods’ sake. And he certainly wasn’t the kind of man to be bossed around by a woman, Wildling or not.

Alice had been willing to let him have her however he wanted. At one point in the middle of the night she’d even whispered the question in his ear, coy and coquettish when she nibbled his earlobe. _How do you want me_? The memory of it made his body flush hot. That, and how she’d felt against him. Her skin was smooth over her ribs and stomach, soft and flawless. She’d known what she was doing, how to touch him, what he’d like. It was something he could get used to.

The thought left him feeling queasy. After the disaster with Ygritte he didn’t want to get tied up with another woman. He wanted quick and easy tumbles with no repercussions. While it was _possible_ Alice could be the woman for that, Theon had his doubts. It was easier to keep his trysts anonymous and disconnected, and women had a habit of getting attached to him.

_The cabin_. Theon sat up in his chair a little, trying not to let the relief flooding through him show on his face. He could buy that abandoned stone cabin from Ned, and the land around it. It’d need some work, but once some trees were cleared there’d be enough space to set up paddocks for training horses. Regardless of what people in town thought of him, everyone knew he was good at breaking and training even the most headstrong colt. The land wasn’t the best for crops, but he wasn’t planning on farming. He’d need more hands than just his to be successful at that. There’d be enough for him to sustain a few small crops, and there was an overgrown orchard. He wouldn’t be too far from Robb, either. And Hell, if Alice hung around Winterfell, she’d be more than welcome to warm his bed from time to time as well.

He was suddenly aware that everyone else in the room was staring at him expectantly. Shifting in his seat, he cleared his throat. “Pardon?”

Robb’s look was at once disapproving and amused. “Mr. Tyrell was asking if you would be a pallbearer for the funeral. Septon Chayle’s set to come by soon, but they’re hoping for Thursday.”

“Course I will.” Theon shifted in his chair, wanting nothing more than to be out of this grim room. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Thank you.” Ellie’s mother had risen from her seat and grasped his hand now. Her hand was shaking, and he found himself grasping it in both of his. Her voice was wispy when she looked at him. She had Ellie’s eyes, dark and warm at the same time. “Thank you,” she repeated, softer this time. Theon had a hard time pulling his gaze away from hers. She was looking for something in him, some sign that he was hurting as much as she was, and he just couldn’t give it to her.

There was another knock at the front door, and Robb stood. “That’ll probably be Septon Chayle,” he said. “We’ll leave you with him then.”

* * *

Alice was in the barn when Robb and Theon returned, methodically grooming Fatty. She’d been taking meticulous care of him since Theon had scolded her about the gelding’s state, and the old beast had improved. He wasn’t quite as overweight now, his roan coat was shining, and he’d only bitten the farrier once the last time he’d come to look after his hooves. He still had a penchant for rolling in the dirt, which Theon knew would give him colic someday, but he supposed that wasn’t Alice’s fault.

The Frey schoolmarm was with her too, sitting on a stack of haybales piled against the wall. Her feet didn’t even touch the floor, Theon noticed with some distant amusement. She was leaning forward, talking animatedly, but quietly about something while Alice listened, her small hands gesturing for emphasis. Alice opened her mouth to reply, but at the same time she saw Theon and Robb, and her mouth snapped shut. The expression on her face suggested that they had been discussing him, and Theon fought off a squirm. Alice was smart enough to know not to go blabbing to the schoolmarm about their tryst, right?

The shorter girl followed Alice’s gaze, and her cheeks blazed as she jumped off her bale. She batted at her skirt, knocking loose hay off in a small cloud. She always looked prim and proper, maybe a little _too_ much so for living on a ranch in the unsettled North. Theon just shook his head as they approached the girls. The girl glanced from Alice to Robb again and again, anywhere but at Theon, her hands knotting nervously.

“I’m sorry about Ellie,” she said finally.

It was a refrain Theon was already tired of, and he just nodded. “You and everyone else. Listen, I’ve gotta talk to Alice ‘bout Senecca’s filly…”

Robb reached into a pail hanging on the wall, pulling out a few carrots. “C’mon, Miss Rosie, let’s go and spoil Midnight for a bit. I reckon she’s mad at me for not taking her out for so long, and she might need to talk to another girl ‘bout it.”

The schoolmarm smiled, taking a proffered carrot. “I’ll do my best to calm her down. Alice, don’t forget to ask Sansa about a dress…”

“I won’t.” Alice’s fingers were looped loosely through Fatty’s coarse mane. “What’s wrong with Whisper?”

Theon waited till Robb and the girl had left before he answered. “Nothin’. Just wanted them to leave...What were you and Roseanne talking about?”

Alice rolled her eyes and leaned against Fatty, urging the gelding to shift his weight so she could lift his front leg to clean the hoof. “Roslin. Honestly, Theon, she’s been here for a month. It’s high time you remember her name, at the very least. And we weren’t talking about anything that’d interest you.”

“You uh...didn’t tell her, did you? About last night?” Theon felt unaccountably nervous, then guilty when Alice’s hands stilled on the horse’s hoof, and she looked up at him. The expression on her face was hard to read, but if he had to try, he’d pick out incredulity and a small bit of annoyance. His nervousness was suddenly veined through with its own annoyance. What was this? He hadn’t been nervous around a female since he was eleven years old.

Alice continued plucking dirt out with the hoof pick for a solid minute or two before she straightened. “What kind of girl d’you think I am, Theon?”

_Oh for the gods’s sake_. Theon fought to keep from rolling his eyes. _These damned women…_ “That’s not what I meant. Listen…” he scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly weary. Slumping down on the same bale of hay Roslin had vacated, he gazed at her. “Don’t be mad at me. Everyone in this damned world is either mad at me or feels sorry for me and I’m fucking _sick_ of it.”

Setting the hoofpick down, Alice sat next to him. Her long, lean thigh brushed against his as she turned to face him, and her blue eyes were clear and frank. “I’m not mad at you, Theon. And I certainly don’t feel sorry for you.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “No?”

“Of course not. You’re just a man who got caught up in some unfortunate circumstances.” She shrugged, and took his hand, playing with his fingers. It was bolder than most women Theon knew, and bolder than he would’ve even thought before yesterday, but it didn’t bother him. Her hands were so slender, the bones small and bird-like. She had the same callouses as he did though, and something about that roughness made his heart clench. “You’re resourceful, and you’re not near as dumb as Sansa and Arya said. I’m sure you’ll make the best of them, and you’ll come out on top.”

Theon gazed at her, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a wry smile. Their fingers had entwined, and again it felt perfectly natural. “You think so?”

“I do.” Alice leaned in suddenly, resting her head on his shoulder. Theon leaned his cheek against her warm hair, breathing in her already-familiar scent. Anyone could’ve walked in and caught them, but at that moment he didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, he felt content.

 

* * *

It rained the morning of Ellie’s funeral, a warm, soaking late-summer squall. Rain dripped off the eaves, soft and rhythmic. Theon leaned against the open loft doors in the barn, gazing out over the grey, wet country. In a month or so the trees would be ablaze in their autumn colors, and winter would be breathing down their necks. With some coin and a bit of luck, Theon hoped to be out on his own by then. He hadn’t spoken to Ned about purchasing the tract of land he wanted yet, but soon. _After Robb’s wedding_.

_It’s supposed to be your wedding too_. He was supposed to see his blushing bride all in white coming down the aisle towards him, presumably arm-in-arm with Jeyne Westerling. The image had always seemed saccharine to him, and had made his molars ache. Today, instead, he would help lay Ellie, with all her unrealized hopes and dreams, in the ground forever. It was a melancholy thought; one that wasn’t lost on him.

The household had risen early to accomplish their morning chores before having to head into town for the service, but for now Theon was alone with his thoughts. For the first time in a long time he found himself thinking of Ygritte. What was she doing? Did she ever venture over those craggy, dangerous mountains anymore? Did the thought of him still hurt her? What if he’d run away with her? What would they be doing? Would her tribe have accepted them, or would he have made her as much as an outsider to them as she would’ve been to his kind?

“Theon?” He jumped when Alice touched his arm. “What’re you doin’ up here?”

He shook his head. “Just thinkin’. I didn’t hear you climb up.”

She stood next to him quietly for some time while the rain came down and distantly, thunder mumbled. “We better head back to the house,” she said after awhile. “We’re going to have to get cleaned up and such…”

“I know,” Theon replied. He drew her close, her back pressed against his chest. He hadn’t had her since they’d returned to Winterfell. It had only been a matter of days, but he was craving the kind of release she could give him. He wanted to drive the memory of Ygritte as far away as he could, and wanted to send the image of his dead fiance’ with it. Letting his hands slip over Alice’s belly, he grasped her hips and pulled them back against him, gently but still hard enough that she could feel him. He tilted his head just slightly, planting a soft kiss just below her ear. She exhaled with a quiet whimper just as he’d hoped, melting against him, and he smiled to himself. She was what he needed, at least for now. “Let’s just stay up here awhile longer.”

* * *

The rain continued through the funeral service, and by the time Ellie’s casket was lowered into the ground Theon was drenched. He could barely keep his grasp on the wet rope the pine box was resting on, and for one horrifying moment he nearly dropped it. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip though, and her descent continued. Once it was done he and the other pallbearers stood back while the septon lifted his hand over the gash in the mud and intoned a final prayer. Theon didn’t listen - he didn’t believe in these strange Southern gods the Tyrells worshipped.

On the other side of the grave the Tyrells stood en masse. A fleet of them had come up from the south, from Highgarden and Brightwater and a dozen other places with fancy names he couldn’t remember. He could see Alice through the crowd, and he had to bite back a smile. He was so used to seeing her in men’s clothing, with her hair messily braided and dirt streaked on her face, and there she was scrubbed shiny. Someone, Sansa or Roslin maybe, had wrestled her hair into a more proper style, pinned up with a few curls framing her face, and she was wearing a dark grey dress of Sansa’s that was too big in the bust. Despite the somber occasion he couldn’t help but give a small grin when she looked his way.

_Why not_? His thoughts broke through the sonorous droning of the septon suddenly. _Ygritte played you wrong but Alice wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just up and shoot Robb if he catches you and her fuckin’. You like her, Greyjoy, admit it. You care about her and she cares about you so why not? Be with someone you want to be with_. Laying with her that morning in the hayloft, listening to the rain come down, feeling her breath soft on his chest...it had been the happiest he’d felt since _...since Ygritte_.

The rain slowed and stopped as the crowd started to shuffle away. The service was over. He shook a few hands, nodded his sympathies to the extended Tyrell clan, and retreated towards the cluster of Starks. Alice met him halfway, her hands clasped around a handkerchief. Close up, he could see her eyes were red - she’d obviously been crying. He had to stop himself from wiping the tears away - seeing Alice upset disturbed him far more than anything else that had happened this week, and _that_ disturbed him more than he’d like. He’d made it a habit of caring about others as little as possible, and it left him feeling unmoored when someone did manage to worm their way into his affections.

Clearing his throat, he glanced over at where the Tyrells had gathered. Some of them were staring at him, not maliciously, just curious. _They were going to be my family, he realized. Of course they want to know who I am_. Turning back to Alice, his lips quirked in a quick, tight grin. “You ok there?”

“I will be.” Alice dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry, when everyone else is crying and upset I can’t help it.”

“‘course not, you’re a woman after all.” Some of the Tyrells were starting to approach Theon, and he swallowed. His stomach flip-flopped when she looked up at him through a dark fringe of lashes. She hesitated, and looked as though she wanted to say something. “What is it?”

Alice glanced around, her cheeks blazing pink, and lowered her voice. “This is the worst place to say this but...this morning was nice.”

They hadn’t had much time that morning, maybe five or ten minutes. There hadn’t been much conversation either - there hadn’t been a need for it. She seemed to be able to predict his every move, already knew what he liked, and melted into his every touch. Her small moans and cries were enough to drive him mad. Theon could have stayed there forever - to the hells with the Starks, the funeral, everything else. In those moments he was happy, hopeful. _Complete_. His lips twisted in a smile. “It was.”

“I’d never tell anyone, y’know. Not Rosie, or anything like that.” She glanced up at him before returning her gaze to the ground, and Theon’s stomach twisted instead of flip-flopping. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“I know, Alice.” Theon rubbed the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have snapped like I did. There’s just so much happening. But I know you wouldn’t. And don’t worry ‘bout Jon. He won’t talk.” _‘f he does I’ll see to it his jaw’s wired shut till the harvest is done_. “The women’s society made up a dinner, right?”

Alice nodded. “It’s in the dance hall.” She linked and unlinked her fingers in a nervous gesture. “Do they hold a lot of dances there?”

Theon shrugged. “It’s more of a general term. I s’pose I’m expected to sit with the Tyrells during this…”

“I understand.” Alice knotted her fingers again, and Theon got the distinct impression she didn’t want to leave him. _Gods bless ‘er_. “Well…”

He nodded, and resisted the urge to tug on one of the curls framing her face. The cluster of Tyrells was starting to look impatient, and he resigned himself to an uncomfortable, unpleasant meal.  “I’ll see you again. After.”

* * *

By that evening the rain had stopped. After supper Theon went out to the back porch, slinging himself into the swing. He was exhausted. The weight of the week had finally caught up with him. He felt guilty about his happiness, guilty about thinking of Alice before Ellie was even cold, guilty about not giving the poor girl some affection during their engagement. He supposed it didn’t help that he’d been forced to spend the afternoon nodding sympathetically while Ellie’s cousins, aunts, uncles, and her prickly old grandmother shared stories of the girl.

Leaning his head back against the back of the swing, he stared up at the clearing sky. _For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you died, but I’m not sorry I’m not marrying you. You were a sweet girl. You deserved better_.

Theon didn’t know if Ellie could hear him, wherever she was now, but part of him hoped so. It would give him some peace of mind. The screen door opened and shut, but Theon didn’t even look. Weight settled on the swing next to him, and he knew it was Robb by his breathing.

“You alright?” Robb asked after a moment.

“ ‘m tired, is all.” Theon still hadn’t moved. The back of the swing was uncomfortable against the back of his neck, but he didn’t care.

“Don’t blame you.” Robb pushed off the porch with a toe, setting the swing in motion. “What’re you gonna do now?”

Still staring at the stars, Theon imagined the stone cabin. In his mind’s eye it was cleaned up. The window Robb had broken when they were kids was replaced. He could see a spiral of smoke coming out of the chimney, maybe a rocking chair on the front porch. If he imagined hard enough he thought he could see a slim, dark-haired figure moving through a window.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”


	13. Chapter 13

The night before Robb’s wedding was long, dark, and sleepless. He’d never appreciated how _loud_ the ranch could be at night. Crickets were starting to sing their rhythmic hymn to bring the end of summer, the wind rushed through the pines, and every so often he could hear the croak of frogs from the swimming hole his brothers and sisters flocked to so often. A breeze blew the curtains aside, a patch of moonlight gleaming on the foot of Bran and Rickon’s bed. From his own narrow bed Robb could see Summer and Shaggy sprawled on the floor, and wondered if he’d be able to sneak out without waking up the dogs. It was doubtful - the animals were as protective of his younger brothers as Grey Wind was of him, and Robb didn’t want to wake the entire house in the middle of the night.

He rolled onto his side, gazing around the room. It was strange to think that this was his last night here. Next time the sun set he’d be in his own house, albeit still on the ranch, with his wife. He and Jon had spent weeks fixing up the little house. Together they’d swept cobwebs out of the corners, dusted eaves, hung curtains, and scrubbed windows. It wasn’t perfect, and it definitely needed Jeyne’s feminine touch, but it was a very solid start.

So why wasn’t he more excited? Robb shifted in his bed again, his quilt tangling around his legs. He loved Jeyne and she loved him - that had been the story since they’d been seven years old. But now all he could think about were the fights they’d had. Robb couldn’t understand where her sudden urge to be a doctor had come from, but he did know it was ridiculous. Their life was planned out. They’d take over the ranch when his folks got too old and his siblings had moved on, taking care of it, raising their own family there. The future was concrete and secure. But she wanted to travel all the way down to Oldtown for years to pursue studies she’d never need to use. Winter’s Town already _had_ a doctor; hell, it had two of ‘em.

Underneath Robb’s incredulity at Jeynie’s desires there was a gnawing doubt. What if he was holding her back from what she truly wanted to do? He looked across the room to where Theon slept, wedged against the wall in his own twin bed.

 _He’s been so much happier since Ellie died_. It was a morbid thought, but an honest one. He’d tried to hide his relief after the funeral, but Robb could see it. He stood taller, smiled more, and was even nicer to Alice.

 _Nicer_. Robb snorted quietly to himself. He’d watched their lingering gazes, their accidental touches, the blush that rose on Alice’s cheeks for months now. A man would have to be blind to not see that Theon and Alice had grown close. Fortunately, the ranch seemed full of blind men and preoccupied women, and no one seemed to take notice of the two of them disappearing every so often. And why would they? When Robb had been able to ride out with Theon they’d be gone for hours, sometimes even days. _It’s different with a woman, though_. If word got out that they weren’t always just herding cattle...Robb didn’t even want to think about how the hens in town would cluck. Theon might be able to brush it off, but he had his doubts about Alice.

His thoughts came back around to Jeyne, and how the hens would cluck at her if she pursued her doctor fantasy. Married women didn’t work. They stayed home and cooked and cleaned and looked after the children. Robb’s mother did it. Jeyne’s mother did it. She’d be the subject of gossip for years if she did this, so really, Robb reasoned, him talking her out of pursuing her studies was a favor. He rolled on his back, resting his hands on his stomach and smiling to himself. She’d understand when he explained it that way.

* * *

The morning came and was gone in a blur. Robb was never alone - his mother and siblings were hovering as he was washed, shaved, dressed, preened, and primped. His mother had sewn him a new coat, steel blue and lined with silk. It was folded over her arms when she found him in his room, surrounded by his brothers while he tried to shine his good boots.

She stepped into the room as if she’d never been there before. The expression on her face was curious when Robb looked up - she looked tremulous. Catelyn Stark, to the best of his recollection, had never looked tremulous. She had always been firm and strong, an unbending pillar. But today her eyes were a little brighter than they ought to be, and her lips were pressed together.

“Boys, go on downstairs now. See to it that the dogs are fed and shut away before we leave for the church, understand?” With a few ‘Yes ma’ams’, Rickon and Bran plodded out of the room, their hair still wet from where she had attacked it with a wet comb that morning, trying to make them look presentable.

Robb stood, setting his boots down as his mother crossed the room. She set the coat down on Robb’s bed and smoothed her hands over his shoulders, brushing off imaginary lint.

“You’ve gotten so tall and broad in the chest,” she said, picking up the coat again. “I hope this fits, and that you might wear it today. Every man should have a good dress coat for special occasions.”

“Of course. It’s perfect, Ma.” Robb slipped it on, and it fit perfectly. He glanced at his reflection in the small, smudged mirror over one of the dressers in the room and was pleased by what he saw. “Jeynie’ll really like this. Blue’s her favorite color.”

“It does bring out your eyes.” Catelyn tilted her head, her smile growing wistful. “I still can’t believe you’re getting married. Just yesterday you fit in the crook of my arm and cried when it thundered.”

“You’ve got Rickon for that now,” Robb grinned. Leaning over, he pecked his mother’s forehead. “Don’t go getting all weepy on me, understand?” Downstairs, he could hear the clock over the mantle bong the hour. “Theon’s going to take me down to the church a little early to make sure everything’s ready. We’ve got to get going.”

“Go on.” Catelyn smoothed Robb’s lapels one more time. “We’ll be there shortly, assuming your brothers haven’t gotten into any trouble.”

Outside, it was a fine day to get hitched. The air had that quiet, calm feeling that comes with the end of summer, and the sky was clear and blue. In front of the carriage house, the small wagonette was waiting. It hadn’t been used in years; not since the number of Starks grew to outnumber the number of seats it had.

“Thought you an’ me and Alice would take this one here.” Theon emerged from the barn across the way, wiping his hands on a rag. He was dressed in his best: pressed pinstriped black trousers and a grey vest with a starched white shirt underneath . A small sprig of blue flowers peeked out of his breast pocket. The sleeves were rolled up and the top button was open, giving Theon an entirely relaxed air that Robb hadn’t seen on him for the better part of a year. Now he was leaning against the wagon, sweeping his dark hair back. “You nervous?”

Robb shook his head. “Nah. Excited, sure. It’ll be nice for the whole thing to be over and done, and Jeynie and I can just settle down.”

“You and your domestic bliss.” Theon grinned and spat. “You were born wantin’ a ball an’ chain.”

Before Robb could respond the back door squealed open. Alice and Roslin tripped down the porch steps, laughing. Robb just gaped. He was used to seeing the girls in their day-to-day wear - sensible, conservative dresses for Roslin; worn trousers and shirts for Alice. Today both were dressed in their best, dresses with tight bodices that bared both their shoulders and the tops of their breasts, and full, swirling skirts. Roslin’s was a soft, rose pink that made her cheeks glow, where Alice’s was a sky blue. When she turned her head to whisper something to Roslin, Robb saw tiny specks of blue flowers in her hair. He smiled widely as Roslin and Alice approached. “You both look beautiful.”

Roslin blushed and Alice laughed. “‘s a wonder what a little soap will do. Sansa made these. She’s been stayin’ up late for weeks, making sure everything was just right. She wants your wedding to be perfect. Which it will be, of course. She made a dress for Arya too, and she’s been trying to get her into it all morning.” She turned to Theon. “Roslin wanted to ride with us into town. I told her it was fine.”

“Assumin’ we can fit all those skirts in here, sure.” Theon shrugged, leaning against the wagon and adopting a casual, devil-may-care attitude. Robb fought off the urge to roll his eyes. “Speaking of which, you girls better get a leg up. Fitting all of us plus all that crinoline or whatever you call it is fixin’ to be a feat of engineering.”

It did take some creativity to get both girls in the small wagon, but after a few minutes of pushing, folding this skirt that way and that skirt this way, they were both settled. Robb climbed up onto the driver’s bench next to Theon. They’d barely made it around the house when Jon waved them down from the front porch.

“I’m comin’ with you,” Jon said as he approached. “I’m pretty sure your ma would make me ride on the underside of the wagon if I went with her.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to ride with the cargo.” Theon stopped the wagon, jerking his thumb to where Alice and Roslin were sitting. “If they’ll let you. You’re not dressed near pretty enough.”

“Sansa must’ve run out of fabric,” Roslin giggled as she moved over on her seat. “Come sit down here, Jon. You can bask in Alice’s and my beauty.” 

* * *

The church was still empty when the foursome reached it. Jon went off to make sure Septon Chayle was awake. Theon tied the horses to the hitching post outside, helping the girls down after. He shook his head, watching Alice and Roslin’s hips sway as they mounted the stairs. His grin sharp and crooked. “‘s a shame, y’know.”

“Hmm?” Robb glanced over.

“You gettin’ hitched and all.” Theon jerked his head. “Leavin’ those girls all to me.”

“Oh please.” Robb snorted. He leaned over and tweaked the delicate sprig of bluebells in Theon’s breast pocket, the same as the flowers Alice wore in her hair. “Alice stake her claim?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Theon swatted Robb’s hand away, scowling.

 _But not denying it_ , Robb thought.

“You’re s’posed to be in mourning, remember.” Robb grinned and started up the church steps. Aside from Roslin and Alice bustling about, adjusting hymnals and the occasional vase of flowers, the building was empty. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, leaving pools of color on the old pine floor. It was quiet, calm.

“Are you nervous?”

Robb spun; Roslin was standing behind him, a small stack of hymnals in her hand. They were alone now. He sat in a pew, his hands dangling between his knees.

“Course not. Jeynie and I’ve known each other since we were both in the cradle, practically. Whole town’s known we’d get hitched since we were seven years old.” A thought popped into his head. Roslin and Jeyne had spent a lot of time talking over the summer. Maybe they’d talked about Jeyne’s wishes to go south. “Is _she_ nervous?”

“Probably.” Roslin set her hymnals down and perched on the edge of a pew. “You show me a woman who isn’t nervous on her wedding day, though. I imagine when my day comes I’ll be too scared to spit.”

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of. ‘Less you’re marryin’ someone you’ve never met before.” Robb stretched his shoulders, tilting his neck until it popped. “That’s just askin’ for trouble.”

“Oh, I’ve no intention of marryin’ a stranger.” Roslin smiled softly and squeezed his hand. “C’mon. Looks like people are startin’ to show up. Pretty sure I just heard Rickon and Arya squalling outside. It’s almost time.”

* * *

The church filled quickly. From his vantage point at the altar, Robb could see his younger brothers fidgeting in their seats. Sansa snatched a slingshot out of Arya’s hands, and his father held a squirming Rickon on his lap. Bran was sitting quietly next to their mother. In the second row, Alice and Theon had their heads bent together, whispering quietly in the muted din of the church. He caught Theon’s eye and grinned widely; his best friend surreptitiously made a rather rude gesture. Roslin sat primly at the end of the pew offering a shy smile. Further back were Jory Cassel and Dacey, each holding a squirming twin.

The Tyrells were here too, all of them. They were a line of black mourning clothes in the otherwise bright and colorful crowd. Robb’s heart went out to them - today was supposed to be Ellie’s wedding day too, of course. He hoped none of them saw Theon canoodling with Alice. Judging by the way Margaery’s sharp eyes were latched onto them though, it was already too late for that.

Jon stood next to Robb. He’d asked his half-brother to be his best man almost the same time he asked Jeyne to marry him. It only seemed natural.

Robb, Jon, and Septon Chayle waited at the front of the church while the guests settled. In the corner the organist picked out a tune here and there - occasionally bits of it were recognizable. Eventually everyone was quiet, expectant, waiting. Robb kept his gaze focused on the doors at the back of the church, waiting for them to open and reveal his bride. _Any minute now…_

“Calm down,” Jon whispered at his back. “I can see your jaw clench from here.”

After several more long minutes, a quiet buzz started around the church and a drop of nervous sweat wormed down Robb’s back. Where was Jeyne? Had something happened? Surely she hadn’t fallen ill…

The church doors creaked open, sunlight spilling in. Robb straightened as a figure started towards him. _Here she is. Everything’s fine, of course everything’s fine. There was never any doubt…_

The figure coming down the aisle wasn’t his Jeynie. It was her father. He looked pale, his eyes on the ground in front of him. He was clutching a letter with white knuckles and stopped before the altar. When he looked up at Robb a bolt of realization went through his stomach and rooted his feet to the floor. Jon brushed past him, taking the letter from Doctor Westerling and scanning it quickly.

“Let me.” Robb finally found his voice. It sounded wooden and dull in his ears. Jon looked at him, his expression unreadable, but handed over the sheet of paper covered in Jeyne’s bold, loopy scrawl. While the church buzzed around him, Robb read.

_Dear Robb,_

_By the time you get this I’ll be on a train heading south. I love you, I’ve always loved you, but I can’t marry you. I’m meant to be a doctor, not a rancher’s wife…_

Robb crumpled the letter, not needing to read anymore. There was no anger, no pain. There was just a deep, dense numbness that seemed to spread from his stomach. He sat heavily on the steps leading up to the altar, seeing nothing.

“Tell everyone they can go,” he said quietly to no one in particular. “Ain’t gonna be a wedding today.”

* * *

The church seemed to clear in no time. Robb was distantly aware of Theon, Jon, Roslin, and Alice quietly shuffling the last guests out of the church. He was still sitting on his step, the crumpled letter next to him. Doctor Westerling had announced in a slightly wavering voice that while there wasn’t going to be a wedding, there was still plenty of food and music waiting in the dance hall. He and Robb’s parents had spoken at length in low voices as the crowd filtered out. Robb hadn’t heard what they spoke about. He hadn’t cared.

Finally he was alone in the church. He was perfectly content to stay there for the rest of the day, for the rest of his life, till the world stopped spinning. Leaving the church meant acknowledging that his Jeynie was gone, that she’d run away from him to start a new life somewhere far away. It didn’t seem real. He fully expected her to appear around the corner in her fancy white dress, laughing and announcing that this had all been some joke.

 _She’s gone. She always hated jokes and would never do this to you. She’s_ gone.

Robb was vaguely aware of a figure sweeping a pale pink skirt aside to sit next to him. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” Roslin said quietly.

It took a minute before Robb realized he should reply. Swallowing hard, he nodded. “You ‘n me both.” He was silent for a long moment while Roslin waited patiently. “When that Wildling shot me and I thought I was dyin’, y’know what my last thoughts were?”

“No.”

“It was of Jeyne. How I was s’pposed to have supper with her and her family the next day and instead I was dyin’.” Robb shook his head. “It was all horseshit, wasn’t it.”

“You’re in a church. Mind your tongue.” Roslin’s tone was gently chiding. She laid a hand on his arm. “And it wasn’t. She loves you. She was by your side nearly every moment while you were sleeping. She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t love you. Sometimes…” When Robb glanced at her she was searching for words. “Sometimes things just don’t work out how you expect them to. I know it hurts. It’s going to hurt for a bit, and you should let it. But it’ll hurt a little less every day and before you know it, it won’t hurt at all.”

“I’m going to be the butt of everyone’s jokes for years.”

“Not for years. A few weeks, at best. You just fake a smile and laugh along with them, even if all you want to do is knock their teeth down their throats.” Roslin stood and extended her hand. “The townsfolk’ll find something else to jaw about before long, I’d wager. C’mon. There’s plenty of good food and drink waiting.”

“ ‘m not hungry.”

“Of course you’re not. But the best thing you can do right now is show folks life goes on. Get up and come with me. ‘f you ask real nice I’ll let you dance with me too.” Roslin smiled.

Despite himself Robb took her hand and pulled himself up. The numbness was wearing off now, replaced with an even deeper ache. “Life goes on.” 

* * *

The dance hall was crowded and filled with the scent of countless savory dishes and lively music, but it was all lost on Robb. All he wanted to do was slink out of the hall and head home with a bottle of rotgut whiskey, but before he could he was swarmed by townsfolk expressing their sympathies. He shook hands without seeing the owners, thanked them for their sentiments until the words tasted like bile in his mouth. Finally a firm hand gripped his arm and pulled him away from the throng. Theon tugged him towards a corner where Alice, Roslin, and Sansa were gathered.

“Here.” Theon pressed a flask into his hand. “I borrowed a bottle from the bartender down at Ros’s.”

Robb drank without question, feeling the alcohol burn all the way down to his stomach. “Thanks.”

“I’m so sorry, Robb.” Alice murmured as she pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “This whole thing is just awful.”

Robb could sense Roslin at his elbow and forced a smile. “Life goes on though. Have you seen my folks?”

“Doing damage control with the Westerlings.” Theon nodded towards the center of the hall. “Sounds like Jeyne’s folks didn’t even know she’d gone ‘till they went to wake her up this morning and found some letters. One for you, one for them.”

“What’re you gonna do if she comes back?” Sansa asked.

Robb gripped Theon’s flask. “Don’t even ask me that right now, Sansa. ‘m havin’ a hard enough time.”

Sansa bowed her copper head, her hands twisting together. “I’m sorry. Today was supposed to be so happy. I just wonder if…” She stood on her tiptoes, peering over the crowd towards the door.

Robb ignored her. Knowing Sansa she was probably looking to see which of the handsome Tyrell boys didn’t have a girl on their arm yet. Right now he didn’t know where to look; he didn’t want to see the way Alice’s slender fingers rested on Theon’s wrist as she whispered something to him, didn’t want to see the pity in Roslin’s eyes.

Sansa made some wordless exclamation or another and wove away through the crowd. Robb drained the flask and elbowed Theon. “You got anymore? It’s lookin’ to be a long night.”

“Pace yourself, my friend.” Theon’s eyes moved over the crowd, many of whom were now staring and whispering. Ned appeared suddenly at Robb’s side. The flask vanished out of Robb’s hand and back into Theon’s pocket as quickly as if he’d imagined it. His father rested a huge hand on Robb’s shoulder.

“Your mother and I, and the Westerlings, were wondering if you felt up for saying a few words.” Ned asked.

Robb laughed humorlessly. “What’m I supposed to say? She left me, Pa. Up and ran.”

“I know she did, son.” Ned’s hand tightened comfortingly.

For the first time in a long time, Robb felt like a child again, like his father would take him on his knee and explain the way the world worked. He almost wished that was the case;that this was all some sort of dream and he’d wake up, 8 years old again.

“You’ll know the right thing to say.”

Holding back a sigh, Robb nodded and made his way to the stage at the front of the hall. He’d never realized how big the room was until he was standing at the front of it. The entire town must be crammed in here. They were all falling silent, waiting for him to start speaking. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure where to start.

“Afternoon, folks. This...uh…” Robb’s throat was dry. He would’ve killed for another go at Theon’s flask. “I know ya’ll got up today expectin’ a wedding, and...hells, I did too. It doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen. But…” Robb’s eyes sought out Roslin suddenly, and she was smiling in the crowd. “But life goes on, ain’t that right? And I’m not about to sit up here and grouse to ya’ll about this, so why don’t we all just have a good time today? There’s plenty of food, this band’s just itchin’ to start playin’. We’ve had a rough few weeks, so we deserve a bit of a break.”

The band struck up a lively reel and to Robb’s relief, couples began to form on the dancefloor. From his vantage point, Robb could see Margaery Tyrell make a beeline for Theon, much to his friend’s chagrin. He could only imagine the conversation they’d be having. Robb hopped down from the stage, trying to make his way back to his small group of friends. He was surrounded again by townsfolk, all handshakes and ‘Well dones’. Somewhat unexpectedly, he came face-to-face with Roose Bolton.

The older man smiled and touched Robb’s outstretched hand bloodlessly. “Inspiring words.”

“Uh- thank you, Mr. Bolton.” Robb was caught wrongfooted. He’d always been uneasy around any Bolton. “I’m surprised to see you and Ramsay here. I know you’ve come a long way.”

“Oh, we do love a good wedding.” Roose lifted his chin slightly. “Forgive me, I won’t keep you from your other guests.”

By the time he got there Rickon was tugging on Roslin’s skirt, bashfully asking if she’d dance with him.

“Why, of course I will!” Roslin leaned down to peck the boy’s ruddy cheek. She glanced up at Robb, smiling. “How can I resist such an offer?”

“You dance with her nice now, Rickon.” Robb ruffled his littlest brother’s hair. “No steppin’ on those fancy shoes of hers.”

Roslin let Rickon lead her onto the dance floor. Robb turned to Alice, extending his hand. “Care for a spin?”

“I’d be delighted.” Alice smiled. Robb took her waist as they eased comfortably into the dance. She was a surprisingly good dancer, following his lead at the slightest touch. “This isn’t a good year for weddings, is it.”

“‘pparently not. I ‘magine I’m going to be talking about my lack of spouse for some time. What d’you say we talk about something else?” Robb spun Alice and then pulled her back. Over her shoulder he saw Theon eyeing them, looking positively irate at whatever questions Margaery was peppering him with. He winked at his friend, feeling a small bit of glee at Theon’s expression. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you and Roslin look today?”

“Thank Sansa for that.” Alice said, glancing around the room. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Uh…” Robb craned his head slightly, and spotted his sister near the great double doors. She was standing with their mother, and a plump, dour-faced woman with a face that Robb hadn’t seen in years. Next to her was a slight man with a neat moustache and bowler hat. He was simpering at Catelyn, his hand on the shoulder of a pale, sickly looking boy who was half-hidden in the woman’s sky blue skirts. “Is that...naw, can’t be.”

“Who?” Alice followed his gaze and stiffed in his arms with a low moan. “Oh, no.”

“Alice?” Robb looked to her. Her face had gone the color of whey, her blue eyes wide and terrified. He motioned to Theon as he tried to steer Alice towards a chair. “Alice, honey, what’s wrong?”

“That woman.” She could barely get the words out. “That woman…”

“What?” Robb was nonplussed. “That’s just my aunt Lysa.”


	14. Chapter 14

Mya was falling, tumbling down a hole with no hope of a soft landing. Across the crowded dance hall Lysa Arryn and Petyr Baelish stood talking with a stunned-looking Catelyn. They’d clearly been travelling; Lysa still wore a stylish sky-blue coat over her dress, and Petyr still had his duster on. Lysa’s boy Robin was with them too - a petulant, spoiled thing that Mya had never been able to stand. _He always told me I smelled of mules and suckled at his mother’s teat before his tutor would come for his lessons_.

And now they were here, _here_ , in the same room, unknowingly ready to swing a hammer at the fragile foundation of her new life. Mya’s legs felt hollow. They wouldn’t support her weight for more than another minute. She began to feel light-headed, as if she might actually faint right there in front of the entire town. Distantly, she became aware that Robb was still at her elbow, easing her into a chair. His brow was furrowed. Mya gaped at him, still trying to form words. “Lysa Arryn is your _aunt_?”

“Well...yeah,” he replied. “Do you know her? I haven’t seen her for years. Didn’t know Ma’d invited her.”

_Think before you say anything_. Mya seemed incapable of even that. All she could think about was that initial jolt of recognition on that rainy night, so many months ago. Robb had the same bold russet hair as Lysa, the same blue eyes. She’d never connected the two; why would she? What was she supposed to say now?

“I…” Before she could continue, or even shut her mouth, Sansa pointed across the room directly at them. Her eyes locked on Lysa and Petyr. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Mya was dimly aware of Theon kneeling at her side now, asking her something, but all she heard was a high-pitched whine. Lysa and Petyr were crossing to her now, seeming larger than anything else in the room. Everything else seemed to fade until they stood before her.

“Mya Stone.” It was Petyr who spoke first, Petyr with his oily smile and oilier voice. It filled Mya’s ears, coating the back of her throat with fear. “What on _Earth_ are you doing here?”

“You must be mistaken.” Ever cordial, Robb extended his hand to Petyr. “This here’s Alice Longmire. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lysa’s nep-”

“Is that what she told you?” Lysa broke in, looking from Robb to Theon as he took Mya’s hand.

Theon stood slowly, his hand moving to her shoulder. His fingers were tight, suspicion and mistrust rolling off him in waves. Mya prayed for the ground to just open and swallow her now before Theon found out. Ned and Catelyn lingered behind Petyr and Lysa, confusion and growing suspicion on their faces. _It’s over. It’s all over_.

“Yeah, that’s what she told us.” Theon’s voice turned quietly tense. People had stopped dancing and were now staring at them, whispering. “There a problem with that?”

“Well, it’s a flat-out lie, for one,” Lysa replied airily. “Her name’s Mya Stone, sure as the ground under my feet. She’s one of Petyr’s and my girls.”

“Lysa,” Catelyn put a hand on her sister’s arm, her voice low. “You’ve got to be mistaken. Alice is one of our farmhands-”

“No she isn’t!” Lysa’s voice rose shrilly. She jerked her arm away from Catelyn and faced her. Mya’s stomach fell. Lysa’s temper had always been uneven and mercurial. “She’s one of our whores! We’ve been looking for her since the spring. She robbed one of our customer and stole his horse. Where’s your Sherriff? We want her arrested!”

Ned stepped forward, troubled. “There’s got to be some kind of mistake.” He looked down at Mya. He seemed so tall. Theon’s eyes turned to her, then Robb’s, and then everyone was _staring_ at her and she couldn’t breathe. “Alice?”

“I…” Mya tried to draw a breath but it stuck in her throat. She looked up at Theon and saw the exact moment he understood. His eyes hardened in anger, turning dark and cold. She reached for his hand, but he jerked it away. “I’m so sorry. I never meant…”

Robb’s eyes widened, and Lysa gave a triumphant laugh. A new figure was pushing through the crowd: the Sheriff. He was someone Mya had only seen at a distance. Some Umber from further North, Theon had told her once. He was called Smalljon to separate him from his father, the Greatjon, and was married to some distant relative of Robb, a girl named Alys. He seemed big as a bear, and just as hairy. Most of his ruddy face was covered by a beard. His eyes were piercing, and Mya knew at once they missed nothing. His Sheriff’s badge gleamed on his chest, and his hand rested on his revolver butt. “We got a problem here, folks?”

“Not anymore, Sheriff.” Lysa rested a hand on her son’s head. “We’d like this girl taken into custody, if you could be so good.”

“Slow down, Lysa,” Ned answered before the Sheriff could. “Let’s all go somewhere more private and just talk this over, alright?”

“That’s a fine idea,” Petyr replied. He placed a hand on the small of Lysa’s back. “I’m sure everyone has questions.”

Sherrif Umber offered the use of the jail. Lysa was intent on bringing her boy, hesitant to leave him out of her sight, but after several long minutes Petyr convinced her he didn’t need to hear about Mya’s crimes. Catelyn, Robin, and Robb stayed behind at the dance hall, while Ned, Lysa, Petyr, Mya, and Theon followed the Sheriff.

It was a long, silent walk out. Mya’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She kept them on the floor ahead of her, willing her feet to keep moving. She’d never been so humiliated in her entire life. Theon walked tall next to her, his jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle bunch. She glanced up at him from time to time, but his gaze was resolutely forward. He kept a hand clenched around her upper arm, as if keeping her from running. How was she going to explain this to him?

The jail occupied the first floor of a two-story building in the middle of town, with four or five empty cells lining the far back wall. The cells were empty right now, holding nothing more than flat wooden slabs for beds with thin blankets folded over the ends. There were no windows, no creature comforts. The sight of them made Mya balk until Theon pushed her forward. The Sheriff motioned to a long, rectangular table in the middle of the room, and everyone sat.

“Now.” Sheriff Umber folded his hands on the table. His voice was gruff, but his demeanor was surprisingly calm. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

Petyr cleared his throat. “Ms. Arryn and I run a lucrative saloon and boarding house in the Eyrie. Miss Stone came into our...service about six years ago. She proved to be a quick learner. We had very few problems with her up until this past spring.”

“What sort of work did you have her do? Six years ago, she must’ve still been a child,” the Sheriff said.

“She was old enough,” Petyr said. Mya’s skin burned with humiliation. “We had her do whatever our customers required of her.”

There was a long pause while Petyr’s words sunk in. “What happened then?” Ned asked.

 “One morning, about seven or eight months ago, a regular customer, Bryndyn Hill, came to us and informed Ms. Arryn and I that Mya had stolen several items from him while she was spending time with him the previous evening.” Mya’s eyes stung with shame. Tears began to roll down her cheeks as Petyr went on. “When we went to question her, we found she had fled in the night. We immediately sent out search parties and posses, but they were unable to locate her. We wouldn’t have had this stroke of luck, but Ms. Arryn’s niece, Sansa, wrote us in the spring and invited us to Robb’s wedding. It was supposed to be a surprise for Catelyn. She hasn’t seen her sister in some years, and Sansa thought it would be nice.”

“What was stolen?” The Sheriff asked.

“Several items of clothing, a hunting knife, a significant amount of money…” Lysa ticked off the items on her fingers. “Also an antique pocket-watch, and a horse that Mr. Hill had had raised since its birth. He was very attached to it.”

Mya’s head jerked up. Across the table, Theon snorted quietly and Mya knew he was remembering the state of Fatty when she’d arrived. “I never stole a pocket watch, or money!”

“But you admit to rest, then?” Ned asked quietly.

Mya looked to Theon again. He was sitting in the chair across from her, one ankle balanced on the opposite knee. His face was stone, staring at the empty table. It made a lump rise in her throat as she nodded jerkily. “I had to. I had to get out. But the horse and the clothes - that was all. I never took anything from you and Mrs. Stark, never.”

Lysa snorted. “The girl’s a proven liar.”

Sheriff Umber closed his eyes briefly, then leaned forward, resting his arms on the table before addressing Petyr. “What sort of debt does she owe you?”

“Lysa and I paid for some medical care for her four years ago.” Petyr replied. Mya’s stomach clenched painfully. Her hands were fisted in her full skirts, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms. “She had a baby and required the town’s doctor.”

“A baby?” Ned sounded slightly incredulous. “Alice...Mya, how old were you?”

“Fourteen,” she whispered. She hazarded another look at Theon. He glanced at her, then back at the surface of the table while he traced the wood grain. “I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen...gods above.” Ned swore softly. “That’s younger than Sansa.” He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Where is the child now?”

“Dead.” Saying the word was like plunging a knife into her own chest. “Stillborn.”

There was a long moment of silence at the table. Tears streamed down Mya’s cheeks, dripping onto her skirt. She didn’t care. She was about to lose everything, possibly even her life, so what did a few tears matter?

Finally the Sheriff cleared his throat. “If you’re admitting to the theft, there ain’t much I can do.”

“It wasn’t theft,” Mya said dully. Her voice was quiet, but the room was silent. “I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t…” Her voice cracked and failed. She shook her head miserably. “I couldn’t.”

For a long while the only sounds in the room were Mya’s stifled sobs. Finally, Ned cleared his throat. “Catelyn and I will reimburse Mr. Hill for his lost goods. The horse is old, isn’t it, Theon.”

Theon grunted. “Too old to survive another trip that long. He’s better off up here.”

“Alright. We’ll pay for the horse, and that’ll be that.”

“Mr. Hill has already been repaid.” Petyr said. “I reimbursed him from the saloon’s own purse, so Miss Stone’s debt is to the saloon.”

“Fine,” Ned sounded weary and irritated now. “I’ll reimburse the saloon, then.”

“I don’t think so.” Petyr replied and Mya went cold. She raised her eyes and saw he was smiling at her. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m afraid this debt is Miss Stone’s to pay, and she will pay it.” He straightened in his chair, covering Lysa’s hand with his own. “Sheriff, I think you’ll find that since these crimes were committed, by Miss Stone’s own admission, in the Vale, you have no jurisdiction or authority here. With your leave, Ms. Arryn and I will accompany Miss Stone back to the Eyrie where she’ll face the consequences of her crimes.”

“No,” Mya blurted out. She looked from the Sheriff to Ned to Theon. “Please, you can’t let them take me back there, you _can’t_. I’ll do anything!”

“I’m sorry,” the Sheriff said. “Mr. Baelish is right - I have no jurisdiction here. And you have admitted to what you did. Your best chance now is to get a good lawyer back in the Eyrie.”

“A good lawyer?” Mya didn’t remember standing. She could barely speak through her tears. Her entire body was shaking, and she leaned heavily on the table for support. “What good is a lawyer going to do me? I can’t pay and either way, I’m going to _hang_ once they get me back there!”

“Not necessarily,” Lysa said flippantly. “If you can prove what you did was right, you’ll live. Granted, you’ll still have your debts to us to pay off, but you’ll be alive for it.”

Mya collapsed back into her chair, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. Petyr and the Sheriff were still talking, but their words were a grey drone in her ears. Just yesterday, hells, just this morning, everything had been perfect. She’d had a future. She’d had Theon. And now, it was nothing. It was gone, dust. She was aware of footsteps shuffling towards the door, and the Sheriff’s large, rough hands gently pulled her to her feet. Petyr, Lysa, and Ned were gone. Theon remained, looking somewhat stricken. Their gazes met. For a split second the anger fell from his face, revealing a deep, betrayed hurt that made Mya’s tears start all over again. Before she could open her mouth, before she could try and beg his forgiveness, he tore his eyes away from hers.

“You’ll stay here tonight. Mr. Baelish and Ms. Arryn have agreed to leave tomorrow. You’ll go with them.”

Mya looked up at him. “I can’t. Please, there has to be some other way. I _can’t_.”

Sheriff Umber’s face was troubled. He pressed his lips together, looking away, and for a brief, bright moment Mya thought he’d look the other way. When he looked back down at her, there was nothing but pity on his face.

“I’m afraid there isn’t. You’ll stay here tonight.”

Numb now, Mya let the Sheriff lead her to one of the cells and slide the door shut. The lock clanged loudly. She had to cover her mouth to hold her cries in. The tall man looked from her to Theon, fingering his ring of keys.

“You’ve got five minutes.” The Sheriff loped out of the jail and shut the door behind him. The room was silent now. She wrapped her fingers around the cold, rough bars.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Her words were little more than gasps and whispers, she was crying so hard. “You have to forgive me. I was going to tell you.”

Theon slowly crossed the room, his footsteps heavy and his spurs loud. His hands were jammed deep in his pockets, and his face was closed again. He came closer and closer till they were inches apart, the only thing separating them the bars of her cell. His eyes moved over her tear-stained face. Mya’s heart was pounding. She needed to hear his voice, needed words of comfort from him. Without realizing what she was doing she reached through the bars and grabbed his arm.

“ _Please_ , Theon. I...I love you.” She hadn’t realized it till she said it but she knew it was true. She’d held affection for men before but never like this. Never anything this deep and pure, this consuming. It was terrifying.

Theon jerked as if she’d burned him and stepped back, a flurry of emotions flashing across his face. His tongue traced a circle around his cheek, and turned towards the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob, not looking back at her.

“I don’t even know you.”


	15. Chapter 15

Theon slumped at a corner table in Winter Town’s small brothel, staring at the bottle of whiskey in front of him without seeing it. Instead he saw Alice’s... _No, Mya’s_ , fingers wrapped around the jail cell bars, the fear and desperation in her blue eyes. His stomach clenched at the thought of her touch and the way she’d wept. _She lied. You never even knew her real name._

The brothel was packed tonight. In one corner the piano was jangling loudly. One of the blacksmith’s boys was pawing at the keys, bellowing an out-of-tune chorus with several whores and fellow drunkards while the crowd laughed and roared and gossiped over the day’s events. Occasionally Theon would catch one of them pointing or glancing his way. Shortly after he arrived, Mabel, a bawdy whore he knew quite well, perched herself on his knee.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here lately, sugar,” she purred. “Where you been?”

“Busy.” Theon tried to ease her off his knee. “Listen, this ain’t a good time.”

“Aww honey, I’ve known you for years. It’s never not been a good time.” Mabel’s hand was sliding between his thighs. “You come on upstairs and tell me what’s got you so bent out of shape.”

“Are you deaf? I said no.” Theon’s patience ran out and he gave her a sharp shove. “Get outta here.” Mabel pouted at him, but in the next instant she was adjusting her corset top and moving onto the next table.

Theon gazed blearily at the whores with their painted faces and hiked-up skirts and he wondered how Alice...Mya...whatever she called herself, could ever have survived such a life. He knew all the whores in Winter’s Town, and he’d paid for his pleasure with most of them. He didn’t give a shit about them; they were whores, for the gods’ sake. No one cared about them, and they didn’t care about anyone longer than they were paid to. He fixed his gaze on one of the younger girls, one he hadn’t had before. She had dark hair like Mya’s and suddenly he couldn’t get the image of Mya out of his head. He closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them, but all he could see was her smiling at some faceless stranger, perched on his knee, coyly laughing at unfunny jokes and pretending not to notice when mens’ eyes slipped to her high, firm breasts. In his mind’s eye her blue eyes flicked to him, and her smile grew. Suddenly it was _his_ knee she was sitting on, _his_ hair her fingers were stroking, _him_ her ploys were working on. It was a familiar feeling, one that both warmed his blood and curdled it slightly with guilt. Alice Longmire was Mya Stone, Mya Stone was a whore, and Theon Greyjoy could not get away from her.

All of a sudden, every harsh word, every shameful encounter, every derisive laugh he’d ever given his paid companions came rushing back. He’d hurt several, naturally. It was a matter of course. He’d had to be more persuasive than was maybe needed with some of them, more forceful. He’d shorted some on coin, and had outright refused to pay others. _Did anyone treat her like that? Did anyone hurt her? Of course they did. Look how she reacted to Ramsay-_

_Ramsay. He knew. He’s had her_. The realization made his blood boil hot. Ramsay was sick, and his hobbies with women were even sicker. _He’s fucked her. He’s hurt her._

“Godsdamn.” Theon rubbed a hand over his face. “Gods _damn_.”

_She said she loved you. And you left her in that jail_. Theon didn’t know if she’d meant it or if it had been a last desperate attempt to get him to free her, but her words had stung. No one had ever told him they loved him before, not even his own mother, and he’d never said it to anyone. Part of Theon wanted to think that he’d never felt it, not a real, true love, but as much as he wanted to think it he knew it was a lie. _You loved Ygritte, you never told her, and you lost her._

Another bout of raucous laughter erupted on the balcony above him. Ramsay Bolton and his gang of cronies had stumbled out of one of the rooms upstairs, followed by a scrawny red-headed girl whose name Theon could never remember. She was tugging her chemise back into place, her face pale. Theon could only imagine what she’d been subjected to in that room. It made his stomach turn.

Ramsay leaned over the balcony railing, grinning widely down at him. “Hey there, Greyjoy!” he shouted in an obnoxiously loud, cheery voice. “Where’s your lady love?”

“Fuck off, Ramsay,” Theon muttered. He turned back to his bottle of whiskey, hoping Bolton would leave him alone. A heavy clattering of footsteps on the stairs told him that wasn’t like to happen.

Ramsay threw his thick frame into the chair across from Theon, leaning over the table. “Exciting day, isn’t it?” He plucked the bottle from Theon’s hands and took a long pull from it. “I love a good wedding, but they can be so _boring_. Not this one though. Definitely worth the trip in. And little miss Mya!” He whistled, leaning back in his chair. “Never saw _that_ one comin’, did ya.”

Theon gritted his teeth. “Did you see that busted-up jaw she gave you comin’?”

Ramsay’s grin sharpened. “She and I’ve met before, y’know. You probably figured that out. Must’ve been...gosh, 2, 3 years back? She’s real good, isn’t she? Worth every penny I paid for her. Hey,” he reached over and swatted at Theon’s arm as if they were old chums exchanging fishing tales. “She still a squealer?”

“You better just take off, Ramsay.” Theon grumbled. “ ‘m not in the mood.”

Ramsay kept on talking as if he hadn’t even heard Theon. “Y’know, when we were at the whorehouse down in the Eyrie, they said she was the best at faking it, and that you could hardly ever tell. Except there was this one noise she’d make...oh, how did it go?” Ramsay leaned back in his chair, his tongue travelling over his thick lips as he thought. “Ah, right.”

He let his eyes drift closed, his face contorting into an ugly bastardization of pleasure. He started moaning, a high-pitched, obscene, and entirely too-familiar noise. Several of Ramsay’s companions started laughing, egging him on.

Theon’s vision went red.

The next thing he knew he was leaping across the table, slamming his fist directly into Ramsay’s fat, smug face. They tumbled to the floor, and after that Theon lost sense of what he was doing. All he knew was that Ramsay had hurt Mya, and he was hurting Ramsay. He was distantly aware of Ramsay’s cronies falling on him with punches and kicks, and he responded where he could. A fist smashed into his forehead just above his eye, another into his lip. He could taste his own blood and it just enraged him more. Theon poured all his anger, his pain, his betrayal into his blows. Not just from Mya, but from Ygritte, from his failed engagement, from a lifetime of being other peoples’ plaything.

The brothel seemed to erupt. Theon couldn’t tell who was beating who, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was the feel of his fist sinking into Ramsay’s gut, his face, anywhere. Distantly he heard the women shrieking and clamoring to get away from the fight, glass breaking, shouts, yells. This was what he needed, and it felt good. Better than fucking. Theon’s heart was pounding, and his blood was up. He could go all night. He could fight anyone who was dumb enough to come at him -

A shotgun blast shattered the air, breaking through Theon’s rage. A large, paw-like hand seized his upper arm and yanked him off Ramsay, tossing him at the now-overturned table he’d been sitting at. The shattered table leg jabbed him in the back. Theon grunted, squinting up to see who’d interfered.

It was Sheriff Umber, of course. He loomed over Theon and Ramsay and a handful of other semi-conscious brothel patrons, bristling with anger. “What in the _hells_ is goin’ on in here?”

Ramsay chuckled as he pushed himself up on an elbow. His battered face pleased Theon, as did the broken teeth he now sported. “Nothin’, Sheriff. Just a casual conversation between friends.”

Theon looked around the brothel. There was hardly a table or chair that was still standing. The bartender was standing on the bar, a pistol in his hand, and there were unconscious or semi-conscious patrons sprawled everywhere in the floor. Two of the wall sconces hung askew, and Theon thought it was only by the grace of the gods that the brothel hadn’t caught fire. The floor was littered with spilled booze and broken bottles that crunched as people started to rise to their feet. _Casual conversation, fuck_.

Sheriff Umber wasn’t amused. Grasping Theon’s arm in one hand and Ramsay’s in the other, he hoisted both men to their feet as if they were dolls.

“Get your posse outa here, Bolton,” he growled. “Every time you show your ugly face somewhere I wind up having to intervene.”

Ramsay spat a wad of blood and shattered teeth on the ground, eyeing the Sheriff. Umber was nearly a foot taller than Ramsay, and Theon wagered he had ninety pounds on him, mostly muscle. _Go on_ , he willed Ramsay. _Take a shot at him. He’ll have you licking out the inside of your own asshole_. 

Unfortunately Ramsay wasn’t stupid enough or drunk enough to take on an angry Umber. He yanked his arm free of the Sheriff’s grasp and jerked his head at his men. One by one they clambered to their feet, glaring at Theon and the Sheriff as they went. Once they were gone the Sheriff clapped a hand on Theon’s shoulder and steered him outside. The air felt cool on his flushed face, sobering him up slightly.

“Best for you not to be in there right now,” he said.

Theon shook him off. He hadn’t had much whiskey but he also hadn’t had much to eat so the alcohol had gone straight to his head. “Who put you in charge?”

“The fine people of this county.” Sheriff Umber straightened his shoulders and even in his slightly drunk haze Theon was aware that this was a man who could use him as a pile driver without breaking a sweat. “You don’t want to be in there when Miz’ Ros starts handing out bills for damage to her brothel.” Theon grunted and let the Sheriff lead him down the wide main street. “She got under your skin, didn’t she? That girl?”

“No.” Theon shrugged. She was under his skin, alright. She was under his skin, filling his lungs, holding his very bones together. “Maybe. What’s it matter? She’s nothin’ but a liar and a thief.”

“Might be.” The Sheriff pushed his hat back. “ All’s I know is I got two girls. One’s five, one’s two. My wife says this next one on the way’s a girl too. Regardless, I hope they never get themselves into the kinda trouble your girl did. Now, I’ve got some things to finish up. You don’t gotta go home, but I better not see you goin’ back into that brothel, y’hear? Go eat something. It’ll do you good.”

“Fine, fine.” Theon just wanted the Sheriff and his parental suggestions to go away. He was starting to feel the fight he’d just had - his knuckles were stinging, his ribs hurting with every breath. “I won’t go back to the brothel. Have a good night, Sheriff.”

Going back to Winterfell seemed impossible right now, but the Sheriff was right. Going back to the brothel while the owner was riled up seemed unwise. Theon shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped off the wooden sidewalk. He could hear people talking and laughing in the brothel and the saloon, but it seemed muted. The night was cool, the breeze carrying just the slightest hint of autumn. Much like the night Ygritte had shot Robb, it seemed too peaceful. He stood there in the middle of the dirt road, lost in himself.

The sound of footsteps interrupted Theon’s thoughts. Petyr Baelish had just exited the hotel, and had spotted him. He was dressed in his finest: grey trousers and a patterned green silk vest with a fine linen shirt underneath. In his hand he held a lit cigar and from the smell coming off it Theon knew it was high quality, most likely from the Dornish Marches. “Mr. Greyjoy. Looks like you got into a bit of a scuffle down at the brothel.”

Theon lifted his chin, feeling every cut and bruise on his face. He had a molar that felt a little loose now. _If Ramsay Bolton cost me a godsdamn tooth I’m gonna knock all his out his ass_. “Nothin’ to speak of.” 

Baelish hummed to himself for a moment. “Join me for dinner, why don’t you. Lysa is giving Robin his dinner, and I do hate to dine alone.”

Theon knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of this and didn’t even bother trying. “You payin’?”

“Of course.” Petyr smiled, steering Theon towards the largely empty saloon. They were seated in a dark corner by the cold fireplace, and Petyr handed Theon a menu. “I have to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For keeping Miss Stone here all this time. I thought she wouldn’t go north of King’s Landing, but she’s more restless than I anticipated.”

Theon shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning back in his chair. Something had passed between Baelish and Lysa earlier when Ned asked about Alice- _no, Mya. Her name’s Mya_ , Mya’s baby. It wasn’t much, just a slight look from her to him, but Theon had seen it and it was bothering him now.

“‘s it true, what she said? Her baby died?”

Baelish sipped whiskey their waitress had brought him. “Tell me what you would do in my position, Greyjoy. You’ve got a young, fresh, nubile girl who is growing popular with some of my customers. She’s a very valuable piece of merchandise, who then goes and forgets to drink her moon tea, and comes up in a family way. She’s damaged, but that’s ok. Some men pay extra for damaged ones. Everything goes swimmingly until her time comes, and where does that leave me? I can’t have a screaming baby hanging from her teats all the time. It’s bad for business. And she’s certainly not fit to be a mother. I did her a favor, her and the babe both.”

Bile rose in the back of Theon’s throat as he thought of Mya, weeping alone in her jail cell.  “What happened? You drown it?”

Baelish laughed. “Hardly. Just like some men pay extra for damaged women, others pay even more for a baby to raise with barren wife. Mya’s little bastard is off somewhere in Essos, being raised by a very wealthy Braavosi merchant and his wife. That boy’s got a better life than you or I, far better than the one he would’ve had raised in a brothel by a whore who can barely read.” Without missing a beat he looked up at their waitress, who had returned with a basket of crusty, warm bread. “The roast quail and asparagus, please. What’ll you have, Greyjoy?”

“Nothin’.” Theon could barely speak. “Lost my appetite.”

“Bring him the saddle of lamb, with extra mint sauce.” Baelish broke off a hunk of bread, smiling blandly at Theon when the waitress left. “Lamb always helps to settle my stomach. It’s a good, non-contentious meat. You look like you could use it.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” Theon asked suddenly.

Baelish shrugged. “She’ll get her trial, and if the gods are good, we’ll get our justice.”

Theon felt sick all of a sudden, as if his insides had been scooped out and replaced with rotten, maggoty meat. “She’ll be hanged.”

“She stole a horse, among other things. Don’t you hang thieves up here?”

“We don’t hang scared girls running for their lives.” Theon’s chair creaked and the sound was a rope creaking as Mya’s body swung from a heavy hangman's noose. No one would claim a criminal whore. She would go to an unmarked pauper’s grave or worse, she’d be left for the crows to peck at. _Godsdamn_ …

_She said she loves you_. Theon’s brain pricked at him again. He didn’t doubt it now, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he started to wonder if he didn’t love her too. The thought of her dying was horrifying - just as bad as the thought of Robb’s death, if not worse. He’d gotten used to her smile, used to her laugh, hells, used to her smell, long before they’d slept together. There was an intrinsic trust that had developed between them somewhere along the way. If she fell, he knew he’d catch her. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe, to give her the kind of life she wanted.

_She lied to you from the start_. What did that matter? The only person who knew the truth of Robb’s attack was Robb himself. Theon had never been able to tell the truth to anyone else. _She lied because she was scared. And you were no help. You had a gun pointed at her. Anyone would lie in that situation. Godsdammit, Greyjoy. You love her and if you don’t do something you’re going to lose her too_. The realization was a hot flood, turning his bowels to liquid. _If she dies her blood will be on your hands_. How...how could he save her? He couldn’t very well march into the jail and pry the cell open. _What, then?_

The answer came with their dinners. Theon shifted in his seat slightly as his plate was set in front of him, and he felt the sharp edge of a deck of cards in his pocket. He’d tucked them in there that morning almost as a reflex. Most of the time, when he had to attend a town event or celebration, he wound up playing poker with some men from town, or teaching Arya and Rickon how to stack the deck. _It’s your only shot_.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his old, slightly ragged deck of cards and slapped them on the table. “One hand.”

Baelish looked at him, his grey-green eyes slightly surprised. “I’m sorry?”

“Poker. One hand.” Theon tried to slow his brain down to let him form sentences. “I’ll play you for her. For Mya.”

Smiling now, Baelish cut a slice of quail and chewed carefully. Then he wiped his neat little moustache on his napkin and took a sip of water. He did all these things deliberately, as if he could see the pulse jumping in Theon’s neck and could read the desperation in his eyes. Finally he spoke.

“What do I get if I win?”

“You get...you get her.” Theon swallowed. His throat felt parched. He grabbed his glass of water and drank deeply. The water tasted like copper, bloody from where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek at the brothel. “If you win, you can take her back to the Eyrie.”

“And if you win?” Baelish seemed amused by all of this.

“If I win you drop all the charges, you get on the first train south, and you never even think her name again.” Theon compulsively shuffled the deck once, twice, three times. He was nervous, jumpy. If Baelish refused, then what? _Don’t let him refuse. You’re one of the best poker players in town. This’ll be just one more game. That’s all. It’s just a game._

“If you win,” Baelish took another bite of quail and asparagus, “what will you do with her?”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s a person, not some good to be traded. She can leave if she wants. ‘s nothing to me.” Theon forced himself to cut a bit of lamb. It was bland and soft, lacking the spices that Catelyn would’ve cooked it with. He made himself chew it, focus on the weak mint sauce. If Baelish knew the turmoil swirling in his head Theon wouldn’t stand a chance. _It’s the only thing you can do. Face it, you’d rather have her alive and far away rather than dead_.

Baelish smirked. “If you really believed that you wouldn’t be gambling for her.” He set his fork down. “No matter. We’ll play. Dornish Hold ‘Em?”

“Five card draw.” Theon looked around the saloon, finally waving over their waitress. “She’ll deal. I don’t trust you further than I can throw you. I imagine it’s mutual.”

“If you trust me so little, how do you know that I won’t just make off with Miss Stone regardless of whether or not I win?”

Theon had to smile at that. “Because I’m a Greyjoy. We don’t handle being cheated very well.”

“Of course not.” Baelish’s simpering tone made Theon’s teeth stand on edge.

It took some convincing for the waitress to agree to deal their game, including both men swearing that she wouldn’t lose her job. Finally, she pulled a chair over and took the deck from Theon. After shuffling it a little clumsily, she dealt them their hands. Theon picked up his five cards, eyeing them. _A deuce, six, seven, a jack, and an ace_. It wasn’t the greatest hand, but he’d seen worse. He watched Baelish carefully, keeping his face a stone mask. One of the reasons he was one of the best poker players in town was that he knew everyone’s tell. Jory’d give a disinterested sniff when he had a good hand, Robb would run a hand through his hair, Jon would get agitated when he had jack shit. Manderly would just keep ordering food the cockier he got.

Petyr Baelish was an unknown. And, looking at him, Theon realized he was good. His eyes flicked over his own cards but betrayed nothing. Finally, he drew two cards out of his hand and slid them back to the dealer.

Theon looked at his hand again, pulled the deuce, six, and seven. If Baelish got shit back, and Theon got a pair of jacks, the game was his. His heart began to skitter as the waitress slid three cards to him, and two to Baelish. Picking his up, his stomach leapt. Staring up at him was a five, a ten, and a second jack. _Could it be this easy?_

He looked across the table at Petyr. His expression was still smooth, unmarked. His hands were steady, his eyes clear. Baelish looked at Theon and raised his eyebrows a touch. “What’ve you got?”

“You first,” Theon replied. His heart was hammering away now. If Baelish couldn’t hear it, it’d be a miracle. _This is it. She’ll be free…_

Baelish laid his cards down plainly, with none of the flourish some players liked to exhibit. Theon took a fast count. _A three, a four, two tens and a queen._ His breath escaped him as he laid his own hand down with a wide grin. His two jacks stared up at them. Theon liked to think they were laughing at Baelish.

“Jacks win,” the waitress announced, rather unnecessarily. “Sorry, Mr. Baelish.”

Theon stood and started gathering his cards back together, elated. Mya was safe now. He could see the smile that would light up her face, could feel her in his arms. “‘s been a pleasure playing you. Now, I imagine we can catch the Sheriff before he heads home, and-”

“Wait.” Baelish held up a hand, leaning back in his chair. “One hand seems too...small for such a wager. I’d say Miss Stone is worth more than that, wouldn’t you?”

Theon paused, looking warily at Baelish. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s go two out of three.” Baelish returned to his quail, spearing a wing and cutting some meat off. His knife grated against the delicate bones and suddenly all Theon could think about were the fine bones in Mya’s hands, how sure they were when they moved over him. He couldn’t risk losing her now...could he?

“If I say no?”

Baelish shrugged. “Say no. Even Greyjoys get scared, I’m sure. Although...Lysa told me you’ve been with the Starks for half your life now.  I’m sure that’s diluted some of that brave highway robber blood your father and forefathers are so famous for. I imagine when word gets back to Balon, he’ll be pleased with your progression.”

Theon wasn’t stupid; he knew Baelish was wheedling him. He knew he should just leave the saloon, collect Mya, and spirit her away somewhere safe. But Baelish’s words had jabbed at his bruised pride and he found himself sitting back down.

“Two out of three. But that’s it.”

Theon waited while the waitress shuffled the deck and laid Baelish’s cards facedown. This was a stupid idea. Theon was tempting fate, and he had a cold feeling creeping down his spine. It grew worse at the quick, cocky smirk Baelish wore as he glanced at his cards. It happened so fast he wondered if he’d imagined it. Theon wanted nothing more now than to run to the jail, but he forced himself to pick up his cards as they were dealt.

_Four, ten, jack, eight, queen...that’s almost a straight._ If they’d been playing for anything else than Mya’s life, Theon would’ve discarded the four and hoped he’d get a nine in return. That was too much of a risk here, judging by Baelish’s expression as he laid down one card. Theon studied his hand for a bit, trying to think of what would be best, what would ensure him a win. If Baelish had only put down one card...Theon couldn’t think straight. He gave himself a mental shake and plucked three cards - his four, his eight, and his ten. He’d be ok if he got a pair. He had to get a pair.

The waitress slid three cards back at him. When Theon picked them up he felt light-headed. A four, five, and six stared baldly back at him, and he was done. He closed his eyes as Baelish laid his cards out, and barely heard the waitress.

“Ace high. Mr. Baelish wins.”

_One more chance. You’ve got one more chance._ If he lost, if he failed... _you won’t. You_ can’t.

The third hand was dealt. Theon’s blood pounded thick in his ears, but he kept his expression flat and neutral. _Three sevens, a nine, and a deuce..._ when his time came he tossed the nine and the deuce away and prayed to whoever was listening that he win this hand.

“You look unwell,” Baelish noted as he looked over his cards. He plucked two and set them down. “I would’ve hoped the lamb would make you feel better.

“I’m fine,” Theon lied. “Just lookin’ forward to finishing up here and headin’ home.” The waitress had drawn their cards and they lay before the players. Theon’s gaze never left Baelish as he drew his up. “So let’s see what you’ve got.”

Baelish glanced down and once more, without a flourish, laid down five spades. Theon didn't even look at the rankings. _Son of a bitch...he’s got a flush._ There were only three hands that could beat a flush, and an infinite amount that would lose to it. Theon couldn’t bring himself to look at his cards as he laid them out. If he lost he’d go down to the jail and reconcile with Mya after this was all done. It was the least he could do. Unless... _even if Baelish and Lysa leave with Mya there’s nothing saying they’ll all three make it to the Eyrie. That train has to stop at some point and I could be there waiting for it. We’ll slip away. We’d never be able to come back here though. It’s the first place they’d look. We could make for Dorne maybe, or Braavos. Baelish said that’s where he sold her boy to. We could find him, make this all right..._

“Full house beats a flush,” the waitress announced. “You win, Mr. Greyjoy.”

Theon was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn’t hear her straight away. “Huh?”

“You win.” The waitress nodded at the table, and Theon gaped. Sure enough, he’d drawn two fours. That, on top of his three sevens, had trumped Baelish’s flush.

“Huh,” Theon repeated. He leaned back in his chair slightly, feeling his usual cockiness starting to percolate in him again. “Holy shit.”

Across the table Baelish smiled tightly. “I don’t suppose you want to go four out of five.”

“I’ll go four out of go fuck yourself, Mr. Baelish.” Theon collected his cards and stood, winking at the waitress. “You collect your woman and her whelp and you be on the first train out of here tomorrow mornin’. And if I ever see you in these parts again I’ll tie you over a barrel and let my stallion have a go at you. Understand?”

“When you put it in such simple terms, how can I not?”

Theon grinned and plucked Baelish’s cigar out of his mouth. Taking a victorious puff, he waggled his eyebrows. “You just remember that, then. The nights get real cold up here, and Smiler gets lonely. Though that might be preferable to your old lady’s reaction when you tell her you lost your little prize. Now, let’s go find the Sheriff and settle up.”


	16. Chapter 16

Mya woke up on the floor, curled up in the corner of her jail cell. Her head was pounding. She was disoriented for a brief moment before the horror of the previous day came rushing back. Today she was set to go back to the Eyrie to face a sham trial that would, without a doubt, result in her death. Today was the day Alice Longmire would die, and with her any chance of happiness.

The jail was empty. Pale sunlight crept through the windows, leaving long rectangles on the wooden floor. Drawing her knees up to her chest, Mya rested her chin on the ridiculous, full skirts she still wore. She’d rather stay right here in this cell forever than face Lysa and Petyr again. She’d been up for most of the night, dozing off only in the darkest hours, turning her situation over in her head. The Sheriff wouldn’t let her just walk away, Theon had abandoned her, and the Starks were out of her reach.

Running a hand over her hair, she felt a small flurry of wilted forget-me-nots fall to the floor. The sight of them made her eyes well up again.

Yesterday morning she and Theon had met in the hayloft before the rest of the ranch awoke, knowing their time together would be limited by the festivities of Robb’s wedding. Their lovemaking had been drowsy and familiar, a comfort she’d never experienced. After, they’d laid together on an old, worn saddle blanket, his chest warm against her back.

Twining her fingers through his, Mya had craned her neck and looked over her shoulder at Theon. “What’re you smilin’ about?”

“Nothin’.” Theon had dropped his lips to her shoulder, letting them linger. They were warm, but still sent shivers down her spine. “Can’t a man smile?”

“They usually have a reason for it.” Mya rolled onto her stomach with a coy smile, propping her chin on her hand.

Theon smiled, lazily looping a lock of her hair around his fingers. “I’ve got my very own naked, beautiful girl all to myself. That’s worth smilin’ over.”

Mya laughed. “Is that how it is? I’m all yours?”

“Must be.” Theon shifted her so she was straddling him, resting his hands on her hips. He was hard again already. “I don’t share easy.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Mya slid onto him, heat flaring in her belly. She leaned down to kiss him as his grip on her tightened. “Neither do I.”

They easily fell into their familiar rhythm. Towards the end, Theon drew Mya close, tangling his hands in her hair.

“You’re mine, understand?” he whispered hoarsely in her ear. “You’re mine.”

After, when they’d dressed and were heading back to the house, she’d plucked the sprig of forget-me-nots almost as a joke, telling him Sansa had wanted to put some in her hair for the wedding.

“If I’m yours, you’re mine,” she’d said, only half-serious. He’d worn them anyway.

And now the remnants of the flowers were limp and dead on the floor. Mya picked one of them up, letting the small blossom rest on her fingertip. When she’d lived in the Eyrie she’d heard an old story about how the delicate blue flower was the symbol of love and fidelity between lovers.

_Lovers_. The word sounded bittersweet in her head. _I had a lover. I had someone who cared._

She didn’t know how long she stayed there, staring at the petals. Eventually the jail door opened. The flood of sunlight made Mya squint when she looked up. The figure entering wasn’t Petyr, or Lysa, or even the Sheriff. Instead it was a tall woman who looked to be a few years older than Mya. She would’ve had a slim, almost coltish figure were it not for her swollen belly. She held the hands of two little girls, one on either side. They all had the same soft brown hair and blue-grey eyes. The woman smiled at Mya, setting a bundle down on the table.

“I’m Alys. The Sheriff’s wife.” She scooped up the smaller girl, propping her on her hip. “Smalljon- well, Jon to you, I s’pose, he’s waiting outside. Said what you were wearin’ wasn’t real proper for travel and wanted me to help you out.”

Mya looked down at her now-wrinkled dress. The skirt was dirty from sitting on the floor, and her tears had dried into small, discolored spots on the fabric. _What does it matter what I’m wearing? No one cares what you wear when you hang_.

“Thank you,” she made herself say. “That’s very thoughtful.”

“Stand up now, let me get a look at you.” Alys tilted her head, regarding Mya’s figure. “The gods didn’t see fit to bless you with much in the way of hips, did they. Ah well, they did the same to me. Well, till Jon Umber got a hold of me.” Brushing her lips across her younger girl’s brown curls, she set the toddler down. “There you go, Nella. Play with Fae for a bit. Mama needs her hands.” Rifling through a bundle of clothing, she pulled out a roughspun brown skirt and soft cream-colored blouse. “These won’t fit me anymore, not after birthin’ my little bear cubs.”

Mya took the proffered clothes, perplexed as to why this woman she’d never even met was giving her clothes. “You...know who I am, right? What happened?”

“I sure do.” Alys tilted her head. “You’re a whore who didn’t want to whore anymore and went about it wrong. But if it helps, some of us here in town don’t think any ill of you. Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“What about the rest of the people?”

Alys pursed her lips as she pulled out a large iron key and unlocked Mya’s cell. “Don’t matter what they think. Go on and get changed now. Your ride’s waitin’ out front for you. And don’t think about runnin’, neither. Like I said, my husband’s waitin’ out there, too.”

Mya waited until Alys had wrangled her girls out of the jail before changing. The clothes fit her well enough, but they felt like a funeral shroud. She wrapped her fingers around the bars of her cell door. It swung open on silent hinges, waiting for her to exit. The rest of the jail was silent and still, and Mya wondered if she’d imagined Alys and her children. _Go_ , she told her feet. _You have to go. It’s time to face the truth_.

Her feet seemed to have rocks tied around them, and it felt like years before she stood in front of the door. Her hand trembled as she put it on the knob, and her palm was so sweaty she almost couldn’t turn it. You have to. _You have to do this. Petyr’s out there waiting for you, Petyr and Lysa and that snot-nosed little boy of hers. If you don’t go the Sheriff will come in here and drag you out eventually. Don’t let them know you’re scared. Be brave. You’re a Stone. Be strong_.

Her eyes welled up. She just wanted to see Theon one more time, to feel his touch. She wanted to hear him forgive her, for him to know that she did truly, deeply love him.

_The time for that has passed_.

Mya turned the knob, pushed the door, and the air went out of her. Parked in front of the jail was Theon in the Stark’s little wagonette. He looked rough: an eye was blackened, his lip was split, and he was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. They were rumpled and torn in a few spots, and he had a day’s growth of whiskers on his chin. Exhaustion rolled off him in waves. One foot was propped on the wagon’s buckboard and his shoulders were slumped.

For a long moment all she could do was stare. Then Theon spat over the edge of the wagon and looked at her. Her insides shriveled, and all Mya wanted to do was cry. “I’ll take ‘er from here, Sheriff.”

Mya looked back at the Sheriff, who merely nodded. “Best of luck to you, missy.”

It was just the two of them then. Mya tried to keep from fidgeting, her heart pounding in her throat. “I thought Petyr or Lysa would come for me.”

“Get in.” Theon jerked his head at the seat next to him. “I got some things that need sayin’.”

Mya’s feet seemed rooted to the ground. “I- I don’t understand…”

Theon heaved a huge sigh, clearly irritated. “Godsdamn woman, would you just get in the wagon?”

Mya scrambled to comply. Her foot slipped when she started to climb up into the seat. Theon grabbed her wrist and hauled her up. His grip wasn’t as hard as it might have been, and his fingers lingered around her wrist once she’d found her seat. Something about his touch gave her a sliver of hope.

Theon said nothing, just clicked to Smiler. The stallion set off down the road towards the train depot. Mya could see the engine waiting, gleaming black and bellowing steam. A few figures moved around the platform, but she couldn’t tell who was there. She leaned forward in her seat, biting her lower lip so hard she tasted blood. The tension wove around the two of them like wires, hard and binding. Finally Mya made herself speak.

“Why’re you taking me? I thought Petyr and Lysa would come and get me.”

“Nope. They ain’t gonna bother you anymore.” Theon said evenly. He still hadn’t looked at her.

A cold pit formed in Mya’s stomach as she took in his split lip, bruises, and swollen knuckles again. “What-...did you _kill_ them?”

This time he did look at her, incredulity on his face. “Hells no! How stupid do you think I am? Either a’ them turns up with so much as a splinter, everyone’d come after me for it. You think I was lookin’ to be your cellmate? No, they’re alive. On their way out of town with that train back there.”

Mya gaped as the wagon travelled into the cool pine forest outside of town. “ _What?_ But... _how?_ ”

“I’ll tell you later.” Theon shook the reins again and Smiler broke into a trot. “For now though, do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Just...be quiet for a spell. I had a long night and my head’s achin’.”

“Oh.” Mya tried to sit still, but her insides were itching for her to jump up and dance. Whatever Theon had done, she’d never be able to repay him. She linked and unlinked her fingers, trying to keep from being too jittery. All she wanted to do was throw her arms around Theon and never let go. “Are we goin’ back to Winterfell, then?”

“Eventually. I want to show you somethin’ first. And like I said, there are some things that need sayin’. Just hush up now though.”

Mya did her best to obey. Theon steered the wagon along the road towards Winterfell, but before they reached the ranch he took a smaller, less-travelled road that headed straight for the woods. They travelled on for half an hour maybe, before he turned down an even more rutted path. At the end of it the path curved upwards, leading to a small clearing surrounded by ancient, towering trees. Smiler’s hooves were muffled by a carpet of pine needles and old leaves. The underbrush swatted at the wagon’s wheels. Once in the clearing, Theon stopped the wagon and climbed down.

Mya followed, looking around. The clearing was beautiful. The woods here were old. The wind whispered to itself as it blew through the trees, and sunlight danced on the ground. There was a small, sturdy-looking stone cabin towards the back of the clearing, covered in vines. One window was broken, and the roof was littered with fallen twigs and branches. The porch was missing a step, and the door hung open like a broken jaw. Across the clearing was a barn, looking just as old. As they watched, a skinny fox crept out of the barn, a dead stoat in its jaws. The fox watched them warily for a moment before bounding off into the woods.

“What is this?” she asked Theon, bewildered.

“It’s mine,” he replied. “Or, it will be once I talk to Ned.”

She felt like she’d fallen into a conversation with Theon halfway through it, and she’d missed the most important parts. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Yours?”

Theon looked around the clearing and for the first time that day Mya saw him smile just a hair, that crooked smile she loved so much. “Mine. I’m comin’ up on 24 years old, Al-...Mya. That’s too old to be sharin’ a room with a boy that still wets the bed, and too old to be livin’ hand-to-mouth on someone else’s land. I’ve wanted this land since I came of age. The Starks don’t need me around anymore, either. Robb’s healed up, Jon’s around now, and Bran’s near old enough to start learnin’ the ropes. I’m not one for seein’ signs everywhere, but I almost missed out on this. I’ve got an opportunity here to take this and make it my own. To do somethin’ _good_ with myself. I’d be a fool if I didn’t take it.”

Mya’s skin prickled pleasantly when he said her name. The clearing was quiet while she tried to figure out how to reply. Theon was acting as though the previous night hadn’t happened at all...Had it? Was she still sleeping? No, that was ridiculous. Her back ached from where she’d curled in the corner of her jail cell. She cleared her throat. “I think you’ll do well here.”

“It’s 40 acres from where we turned onto the second trail. Enough for me to train horses, start a few crops. But not by myself.” Theon glanced at her and something in his eyes made Mya’s heart trip and stutter. “I wanna ask you somethin’. And I want you to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

“Yesterday when I was leavin’ the jail you said you...loved me.”

Mya went very still. “Yes.”

“Did you mean it? Or were you just tryin’ to get me to bust you out?”

“I meant it. I mean it,” Mya said quickly. “I do.” She looked at her hands, trying to gather her thoughts. “I never meant to lie, honest.” Mya looked up at Theon, feeling her eyes sting. “I was just so scared.”

Theon reached out as if he wanted to touch her, but at the last minute pulled away. “You lied from the start, though. How do I know you’re not still spinnin’ a yarn?”

“Because I’m not!” Mya exclaimed. “You know I’m not! If you thought otherwise you would’ve left me for Petyr and Lysa.” When Theon didn’t reply, she tentatively took his hand. “Yes, I was a whore. I didn’t want to be. No girl wants to be. All I wanted, all I _ever_ wanted, was to feel like I had a place, that I was wanted, and that I had a home. That brothel wasn’t a home. I wasn’t safe there. I never knew if the next man who bought me would get angry and beat me or kill me or make me do...just horrible things. My son _died_ there, and I never-” Mya had to stop and catch her breath. She was gripping Theon’s hand so hard her knuckles were white. “I never saw him.

“With you...I’m home. You make me feel safe. I _want_ to be with you. That hasn’t happened before. Not like this. And I don’t expect it’ll happen again. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me. I don’t know if you’re meaning to send me off or what. Can’t say I’d blame you if you did. If that’s what your plan is, I’ll go. Just know that I do honestly, truly love you.”

For a long time the clearing was quiet. Mya wiped her eyes, trying to collect herself and think of her next move. She didn’t look at Theon; she couldn’t. Looking at him would mean facing his rejection and his anger and she couldn’t bear that.

Theon shifted. “There’s forty acres here,” he said as if Mya hadn’t said anything at all.

She looked up at him warily. Had he not been listening? “You said that.”

“It’s too much land for me to handle by myself. And I can’t very well drag Robb away from Winterfell.” Theon was still looking around the clearing, his arms crossed over his chest.

Something inside Mya cracked. She turned to him, her tears renewing themselves “Didn’t you hear what I just said? I poured my heart out to you, Theon, and you’re sitting there talking about how you can’t handle all the land you’re set to buy? _I love you_. Can’t you at least acknowledge-”

“Seven hells woman,” Theon broke in impatiently. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

That brought Mya up short. “Say what?”

Theon finally looked at her. His bruises were only getting worse as the day went on, the bags under his eyes heavier. He swiped a hand over where his lip was split, glancing at his fingers as if he expected them to come away wet with blood. “It’s what you said - things like this don’t happen people like us. I’m just s’posed to stay the last son of a gang of stagecoach robbers, and you’re s’posed to lay with any man that pays you. In another world I’d probably be one of them. But…” He shrugged. “That ain’t the way it is here. And if I had to put words to what I feel about you, then I love you too.” Theon smiled, a little crooked thing. “There. Now will you stop bawlin’?”

Mya burst into tears.

Theon sighed, but gathered her close. “I don’t know what it is with women,” he said softly, his lips against her hair. “Bunch a’ sobbin’ messes, the lot of you.”

“Hush up,” Mya said in a wavering voice. She pulled away just far enough to look up at him. She couldn’t stop smiling or crying, and she knew she looked a mess. “What do we do now?”

“Now, we go back to Ned, I buy this land, and you come with me.” Theon cupped her face and wiped her cheeks. “This is probably a terrible idea but I’d be kickin’ myself if we didn’t at least try.”

“Think about the way the women in town will talk, the two of us shackin’ up. Poor Sansa will go into hysterics.” Mya laughed as relief flooded through her. “ ‘less you plan on marryin’ me.”

Theon gave her a look. “I just barely escaped one marriage. I’m not about to go jumpin’ into another. As for the people in town, let ‘em talk. Honestly, no one should be surprised that I’m livin’ in sin with an unemployed whore.”

“Retired.” Mya corrected him. She paused, biting the inside of her lip. “Are you sure? I can’t cook, can’t sew, can barely clean, I’ve never kept a house before-”

Theon kissed her. “Hush up. You could barely saddle a horse when you came here. You learned. And you’ll learn how to do a woman’s work. I’m sure Cat and Sansa and Rosanne-”

“ _Roslin_.”

“-Roslin will teach you.” Theon smiled widely, and laughed as he drew her close. “Gods. This is the first good thing to happen in months.”

“I know,” Mya closed her eyes as she buried her face against his chest. She inhaled his scent, felt his heart beat beneath her cheek. His arms tightened around her. “This is perfect.”

“Almost. Let’s go buy this shack, and then it’ll be perfect.” Pressing one more kiss to Mya’s forehead, Theon straightened.“ ‘course, then we’ll have to patch the roof, fix the window, replace that step, shim the front door, and the gods only know how many varmints are livin’ in there right now…”

“Stop that.” Mya knocked his ribs with an elbow. “You’re going to make me change my mind.”

“And give up all this?” Theon made a sweeping gesture across the clearing.

“No,” Mya said, tucking herself against his side. “This is home.”


	17. Chapter 17

Buying land from Ned Stark was surprisingly easy, Theon thought. He and Mya had met with Ned and Catelyn after an admittedly stiff and stilted dinner, and Mya had practically fallen on her knees in front of Ned and Catelyn, begging for forgiveness. She’d been in tears, giving back all the wages she’d earned. Theon thought she’d come on a little strong, but it had worked. Ned and Catelyn were wary, justifiably so, but had told Mya there had been no lasting damage.

“I know how...difficult my sister can be,” Catelyn said. “She’s been fond of Petyr since we were children, and he knows it. He’s a clever man, and Lysa can’t see when she’s being taken advantage of.” She went quiet for a moment, then gave a quick shake of her head as if to dispel any images of Lysa or Baelish. “But that’s not what’s important. If you had come to us with the truth, Ned and I would have done what we could to help you. There was no need to lie.”

“She couldn’t have known that, Cat,” Ned broke in quietly. “And what’s done is done. There’s no need to rehash it.”

“I know,” Catelyn replied tightly. For a moment she looked like she wanted to say something else, but she didn’t. She always looked like she wanted to say more in regards to her sister; as long as Theon had known her, she rarely did.

Watching the small exchange between Ned and Catelyn, he wondered if his sister ever talked him the way Catelyn did Lysa; a tightening around the eyes, short, staccato words. _Is she ashamed? Does she ever think about me?_ In the chair next to him, Mya’s hand brushed next to his and interrupted his thoughts. He shoved them to the back of his mind with the rest of the thoughts of his family.

Ned seemed to have been expecting Theon’s offer, judging by how quickly he accepted. A price was agreed upon, and Ned volunteered his services, as well as his sons’, to help make the cabin livable. When Theon mentioned that he intended to bring Mya with him, he could see the doubt in Ned and Catelyn’s faces but they held their tongues at his defiant expression.

“I know you don’t approve of what we’re doing,” he said, “but it’s our choice. I know folks’ll talk but ain’t they doin’ that already? They can’t say anything Mya and I ain’t heard before.”

“We know that,” Catelyn said slowly. “If you want to start courtin’, that’s one thing. But this... Theon, you’ve been a part of this family for over a decade. And Mya...we’ve all grown fond of you. We’re worried this won’t work like you both think it will. ”

“We know,” Mya said, her voice gentle. “If there are any two people who know life doesn’t go how you want it to, it’s us. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, and I know Theon does too. But this is what we want to do. It’s not what most people do, but it’s right for us.”

That had been slightly more than a month ago, and now Theon and Mya were settled in their home.

It wasn’t the easiest transition, and the gods knew they were still trying to get to really know each other, but waking up with Mya every morning was one of the best things Theon had ever experienced. She seemed so shy, striving to please him and anticipate his every need. It was unsettling at first. Theon had to keep reminding himself that she’d been raised to do just that - do anything that was asked of her or face the consequences. It was just like when they’d started working together, and just like then, Theon had to force himself to be patient as she learned.

At night, it was easier. At night he’d pull her into their bed and together they’d erase whatever mistakes had been made during the day.

At least four days a week Catelyn and Robb would come out to their homestead, usually with Sansa, and occasionally Arya and Jon. While Theon, Robb, and Jon would pull stumps and stones out of the empty field Theon wanted to turn into a training ring, Catelyn and Sansa would patiently spend hours teaching Mya the things her own mother should have taught her - how to cook simple meals, how to tend a garden, how to sew and make soap from the ashes in the fireplace.

The only thing Mya was never able to do was to thread a needle - she could see for miles into the distance on a good day but she confessed to Theon that up close everything went a little blurry. It had always been like that, she said. When Theon teased her about needing glasses she just swatted at his arm.

“The ladies in town would love that, I bet. Instead of being a lying, thieving whore, I’d be a blind lying, thieving whore.”

Her tone was light, but Theon knew better. He and Mya had only ventured into town a few times since Lysa and Petyr had shown up. Each of those times had been marked with whispers and cold glances at Mya, and a distinct aloofness from the Tyrells. Theon found it easy to let everything roll off him, but it was harder for Mya. She would smile at everyone she saw, but he saw how her chin would wobble.

“They’ll get over it, sweetheart,” Theon told her quietly one night. They were sitting together in the schoolhouse, watching a yearly recital the students put on. Mya had attempted to talk to several girls from town and it hadn’t gone well. He’d watched as Mya’s shoulders drooped at the scornful looks she’d received. “By the end of the year they’ll forget anything ever happened.”

“D’you really think so?” The sad way she looked at him pierced Theon. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet. She’d been quietly dabbing at them with a handkerchief. “We weren’t friends before, but they were at least civil to me.”

Theon wrapped an arm around her waist. “Don’t you worry ‘bout them. You got plenty of folks who like you just fine. The Starks, Roslin, Jory an’ Dacey…”

She looked up at him in the dark schoolroom. Up at the front, Arya was starting to recite an epic poem about Nymeria, the Dornish warrior-queen. “And you?”

“And me.” Theon caught her chin in a finger and tipped her face up to kiss her. “You know that. You don’t need them town girls.”

Mya leaned against his side, her head on his shoulder, but didn’t respond.

Theon knew Mya had never had a chance to finish her schooling. She could read and write, but she hadn’t been in a schoolroom since she was twelve years old. It bothered her, but she hardly ever complained about it. A solution quickly presented itself to Theon, and within a few weeks of them leaving Winterfell, Robb started bringing Roslin out few nights per week to tutor Mya in the things she should have learned. They would sit together at the kitchen table, heads bent together over ancient history books or classic literature. Roslin would leave the books with Mya, and she devoured them at night.

While the autumn evenings were warm, Robb and Theon would retire to the barn or the porch to shoot the shit or maybe play a game of checkers. Robb hadn’t heard anything from Jeyne himself, but he had heard from her brother that she’d reached the Citadel safely, and had been trying to convince them to accept her.

“I hope she gets in,” he told Theon one evening. They were sitting on the porch steps, a tin of blackberry pie between them. While Mya may have struggled with her numbers and couldn’t sew a straight line to save her life, she cooked like she was born in a kitchen. She could give Catelyn a run for her money, but Theon knew better than to mention that in front of Robb. “I really do.”

Theon speared a plump berry and bit of crust. “You think she’ll tell you if she does?”

“I dunno,” Robb shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m glad she’s tryin’ to do what makes her happy but...I dunno,” he repeated. “Wish I knew what’d make me happy.”

“Don’t go gettin’ all soft on me, Stark.” Theon clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and nudged the pie tin at him. “It’s been what, two months now? ‘s high time you started movin’ on.”

Robb looked at him glumly. “What d’you mean?”

Theon cast about for an idea. “Well...there are other girls in town...Hells, I’d bet you with a little effort even Roslin’d grow sweet on you.”

That earned him a snort. “Please, I’m not about to go takin’ advice on women from someone who had to buy his for most of his life.”

_Not all_ , Theon thought as he reflected back on the conversation later that night. Robb and Roslin had left hours ago, with Robb subtly sliding closer to Roslin on the wagon seat, and Mya was curled up with some ancient, cracked tome on dragons or some other such thing. Theon had just finished checking on his animals in the barn, latching the door shut behind him. He’d brought Smiler with him, obviously. The Starks had given him and Mya a few chickens for eggs, and he’d bought a cow from Jory in exchange for breaking a yearling for him. Come spring, he had plans to build a chicken coop so they could stop roosting in the tack room and shitting all over his saddle blankets, but for now, they were all locked in tight for the night.

Theon stood in the middle of the clearing, gazing up at the clear night sky. The summer crickets were long since dead or sleeping, and the only sound was the creaking of the old trees. The stars twinkled high above him, and he suddenly found himself thinking of Ygritte. He hadn’t thought of her in...gods, months. He wondered if she’d been able to move on from him, find whatever sort of peace Wildlings found.

_Probably_ , he thought. _She’s probably got a flock of Wildling boys hard as the mountains for her_. If he listened hard enough he could hear her laugh on the wind, but it was so faint now. Nearly gone.

He wondered if she ever came over those mountains, wondered what he would do if she found him again, and what she’d think if she saw him with land of his own, and a woman of his own. _She’d laugh at me and tell me I was dull now. Not worth her time_.

Soft footsteps came up behind him, and Mya’s arms wrapped around his waist. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Nothin’,” he replied after a moment. Turning to face her, he tipped her face up to his. The stars reflected in her eyes, and he could see his life in there.

_Ygritte was fire. She burned fast and hot and destroyed you. Mya’s water. She gives you life_.

Leaning in, he kissed Mya softly. He’d never told Mya about Ygritte, or the truth about how Robb had gotten hurt so many months ago. With a jolt, he realized he’d never told her her son was alive, either. _She’s been nothing but honest with you. She deserves to know_.

Mya rose on her toes, pressing against him as their kiss deepened. He pulled away after a minute, twining his fingers in her long, silky hair. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much, Mya.”

She pulled away, smiling at him in the dark. After the first time he’d told her he loved her, Theon thought it would get easier to say, but it didn’t. That didn’t diminish how he felt about her, and he wondered sometimes if she knew that. But now wasn’t the time for that. Now was the time to come clean.

“Come inside,” he said. “We’ve got to talk.”

Mya sat on their bed and listened patiently while Theon told her the story of Ygritte, from the day they met until the day Robb had been shot. Theon was surprised at how good it felt to finally tell someone - like the weight that had hung around his neck since the spring had finally been lifted away. When he was done, he watched her face, wondering what her reaction would be.

For a long time she seemed to mull over his words but finally, she took one of his hands in both of hers. “It’s over though, right? You haven’t seen her since?”

“Right.” Theon nodded. “It’s over. I just...wanted to come clean. I know I should’ve done it sooner but it didn’t seem like the right time.”

“I understand,” Mya said slowly. She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles while she thought. It was an unconscious motion, one she did more than she realized. It was comforting. “Robb knows, then. Does anyone else?”

“No.”

She nodded. “I...I won’t tell anyone. It’s not my place, and it...it doesn’t seem like it needs to be told. You made a mistake, and it’s done.”

This sounded promising, but Theon knew she wouldn’t take his next bit of news so well. “There’s more.”

Something in his tone made her small smile fade, and she sat up a little. “What? What’s wrong?”

Theon’s gut was churning. He tried to brace himself for whatever her reaction would be, but he felt like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff. “The night you were in jail, Baelish told me...your son didn’t die. He’s alive.”

Mya exhaled and seemed to shrivel before him. She stared at him, her lips slightly parted. Her hands, still clasping one of his, turned clammy and cold.

“...How?” she whispered. “I was there, I…”

“You never saw him, remember?” Theon was trying to remain as gentle as he could. “Baelish said he sold him to a merchant in Braavos. Or Norvos. Somewhere in Essos. He said the couple who bought him are wealthy - he’s probably been raised well.”

“He sold him?” Mya’s voice was raspy. “He _sold_ him? But...I…”

She was floundering for words, tears starting to fall. Theon gathered her close, letting her work out her tears against his shoulder. He didn’t say anything; there was nothing to say. He couldn’t imagine what was going through her head. Finally a thought solidified.

“Just say the word, and we’ll go find him,” he said against her hair. “We’ll bring your boy home.”

Mya sniffled and pulled away, looking up at him. For a moment he could see how badly she wanted it, how badly she wanted to hold her son and see him, hear his little voice. When she replied her own voice was small. “Bring him...but...we can’t. It’s impossible”

“Sure we can,” Theon cupped her face, wiping away her tears. “He’s your son, your blood.”

“But…” Mya’s chin quivered. “I haven’t raised him. I love him but he’s not _mine_ , he’s...these other people’s. I don’t even know his name. We couldn’t just show up in Braavos and start asking who bought a baby four years ago. And even if we _did_ find him, I can’t just show up and expect his parents to give him back. They’ve had him for years, they love him, they’ve cared for him. He’s probably all they’ve ever known. They can give him things I never could.” She took a long, quavering breath. “It’s not fair. Even if-” She stopped, shaking her head. “It’s not fair.”

Theon was, frankly, amazed. If it had been his son, he’d be on the first boat towards Essos and wouldn’t come back until he had what he wanted. But, he supposed Mya was right. If Baelish was right, then her son was better off with a wealthy merchant family than he would be with them. It would be cruel to steal him away.

He wrapped his arms around Mya as she dissolved into tears again, resting his lips against her hair.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed quietly. “It isn’t at all.”

For a long while the only sound in the room was her quiet, stifled sobs. Theon ran a hand up and down her back, knowing there wasn’t anything he could say. Finally she raised her head. “What must they think of me?”

Theon kept stroking her back. “For all we know, Baelish told them _you_ were dead.” He shifted on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. Mya came with, curled against his side. “I bet if they knew you were alive, they’d be grateful you gave them a strong, healthy boy.”

He felt her smile. “He is healthy, isn’t he.”

“I’m sure he is. Except I bet he got your bony little bird hands.” Theon was flying by the seat of his pants, but imagining her son seemed to help Mya calm down. “And your hair, probably. And that crooked tooth you’ve got, I bet he has that too.”

“I got that when I fell down a flight of stairs when I was eleven. Doctor said I was lucky I had any of my teeth after that.”

“I’m sure he’ll have it soon enough, then.”

Mya shifted, draping an arm over his stomach. “‘m I a bad mother for not wanting to get him back?”

“Nah.” Theon shook his head. “You’re doin’ what’s right for him.”

* * *

Winter came fast that year. By the time the year ended, the ground was blanketed in snow that came past Theon’s knees and the wind was cold enough to freeze the breath in his lungs. The northern and western sides of his home were buried in drifts that were almost as tall as he was, but he didn’t mind. The cabin and barn were both warm and secure against the cold. After some of the bigger snowfalls, Robb would hitch the Starks’ heavy draft horses to their plow and clear a path all the way from Winterfell to Theon’s home. He appreciated it and knew Mya did too, but didn’t want to think about what sort of shape that dirt road would be in come spring.

One night just after Wintermas, he patted Smiler on the rump and shut his stall door. “Be glad we don’t have anywhere to go tomorrow, buddy,” he told his stallion. The winds had started late that morning, stiff and cold and straight off the mountains. The sky had been leaden gray for days. Mid-afternoon, the snow and sleet had come; hard icy pellets that buffeted Theon and Mya when they ventured outside. Mya had strung their laundry out to dry in the bitter winter air, and she’d scurried to pull it off the lines while Theon had stacked firewood inside the door of the cabin before the snow began to pile up too much.

After checking on their cow one last time, he turned his coat collar up against the wind and latched the barn door shut behind him. The cabin was just across the clearing, windows glowing with warm light, but on this cold, bitter night it seemed miles away. Lifting his lantern, Theon squinted into the blinding snow. He knew Mya had spent most of the afternoon cooking and baking, happily puttering around the kitchen and filling their home with strong, savory smells. His stomach rumbled just thinking about it.

There was a sudden lull in the wind, and Theon got the unshakeable feeling he was being watched. He spun, holding his lantern out in front of him as if that would somehow light the woods. They were dark, pitch black, but still. Theon held his breath, wondering if he was imagining the sound of footsteps, a branch cracking. _There’s someone out there. Or something_.

The wind kicked up again, howling, and Theon exhaled. _Of course there’s something out there. You live in the middle of the godsdamned woods. It’s most likely a deer or fox or something. Go inside_. Trudging across the clearing, he stamped snow off his boots as he climbed the steps. Pulling the door open, the warmth of the cabin washed over him and he couldn’t help but smile at the scene before him.

Shortly after Robb’s failed wedding, Sansa had taken her dog, Lady, into town when she called on Margaery Tyrell and one of her older brothers. The older brother had a dog as well, a huge loping beast, and no one had noticed that Lady was in heat until they’d found her and the Tyrell dog becoming well-acquainted in the back of the general store.

Two months later, Lady had crawled onto Ned and Catelyn’s bed while they were at church and messily delivered seven healthy, squirming puppies. Once they were old enough and Sansa was desperately trying to find homes, Theon and Mya had taken two: the biggest puppy, and the runt. Mya doted on them as she might over her own children, and Theon let her. More often than not, and despite his rule that they not sleep in their bed with them, he’d woken up to one wet, cold nose or another. Theon didn’t mind, though. Not _that_ much. Mya had been out of sorts for weeks after he’d told her about her son. He wondered sometimes if he’d done the right thing, if honesty always was the best policy.

The puppies had helped pull Mya out of the daze. They were growing quickly, keeping her busy. Both of them were tussling in front of the fireplace now. The runt, Jenny, had pinned her brother Duncan, and was gnawing on an ear. Theon shut the door behind him, feeling it rattle as another blast of icy wind hit it. Not for the first time, he found himself silently thanking the old dead Stark who had built such a solid structure. He also knew without looking that his loaded shotgun hung above the door, ready at a moment’s notice. He thought again about that creeping feeling of being watched, and hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

Mya was crouched before the fat pot-bellied stove, reaching into the oven to pull out a large steaming pie. Theon pulled his coat off and hung it next to the door, his mouth watering. “That better be supper for you and I.”

“Just for the pups and I if you don’t take off those wet boots.” Mya set the pie on the counter so she could cut it. “I had to use up the last of the autumn apples, so I sliced them up with some potatoes and sweet onions and that spicy sausage Catelyn gave us last month and threw it in a pie crust. It’s nothin’ fancy.”

Theon came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and burying his cold nose against her neck. “It sounds perfect.”

She squealed and squirmed to get away. “Stop that! You’re freezing!”

Theon just chuckled and held her tighter. “Then warm me up, woman!”

Mya laughed and tilted her head back to kiss him. “After supper. Now sit down so we can eat before this gets cold.”

He let the kiss linger for a moment before sitting at their second-hand table. Everything in the cabin was second-hand, but Theon didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. Mya kept it clean and tidy, scrubbing pots and pans and chiding at Theon when he didn’t make the bed in the mornings. He thought he’d be more annoyed with it, but he wasn’t.

Theon barely had a chance to dig into his meal before three huge, booming knocks rattled the front door. The dogs paused in their roughhousing, ears pricked. Mya’s eyes were wide. “Robb wasn’t coming by tonight, was he?”

Theon was already on his feet, reaching for his gun. “Not in this weather. And Robb wouldn't bother knocking.” There was a trapdoor leading to the root cellar under the house, and he wondered for a moment if he shouldn’t send Mya down there. _Don’t be ridiculous. It’s probably some poor sap who wandered off the main road_.

Before he could open his mouth there was more pounding. His heart in his throat, Theon racked his shotgun and opened the door. Crowding the porch were three of the biggest men Theon had ever seen. They towered over him, all beards and bearskin wrapped around bodies like tree trunks. _Wildlings_. He swallowed hard, but held his gun to his shoulder. “What d’you want?”

The oldest man spoke, a gruff and gravelly voice coming out of a thick, wooly grey beard. “You Greyjoy?”

“I am.” Behind him he could hear the puppies whimpering and Mya trying to quiet them. “I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

“Stand aside, boy.” One of the other Wildlings, one who stood at least a foot taller than the old man, stomped into the cabin and easily pushed Theon’s gun aside. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on Mya. “That yer woman?”

“I am,” Mya replied before Theon could, and he gritted his teeth.

“Hush, now,” he said over his shoulder, but by then the other two men had barreled into the house. The third one pushed the door shut. He was cradling his left arm. _Is he injured? Do they need help?_ As he watched, the third one crossed the room in a few huge strides and crouched before the fire. Jenny sniffed at him curiously, but when he looked down at her she skittered back to Mya’s feet. Theon’s guts twisted when he saw the size of the axe strapped to his back. _I should’ve sent her to the cellar._

“She ain’t got no meat on her bones, that one,” the tall Wildling said. “You lost your taste for a real woman then, did ya?”

Theon was confused and angry now. “What in the _hells_ are you talking about?”

The old man silenced the tall one with a look. “You say you’re Greyjoy. There any others of your clan in these parts?”

“No,” Theon replied tightly. “Not for hundreds of miles.”

“Good.” The old man nodded. “You remember Ygritte.”

Theon’s throat clapped shut as if a huge hand gripped it. He glanced at Mya, white-faced and terrified, and nodded. “I do,” he forced out. “Why?”

The three Wildlings looked from one to the other before the third one stood and spoke. “By rights we ought to paint the walls with your’n blood and set a torch to this place. But that warn’t her wish.”

_What is he talking about?_ Theon reached for his gun again. “She attacked my...my brother. I had to do what I did.”

“Y'had to cut her off like ye did, after you put your child in her belly?” The old man stood up straight, his shoulders squared.

Theon went cold. “My _what?_ ”

The old man gestured to the third man, who opened his coat. Cradled under the furs was a wrapped bundle strapped to his chest. With surprising gentleness, he unstrapped it and held it out. “Your son,” he said.

Theon didn’t move, _couldn’t_ move. All at once he was back in the clearing, and Ygritte stood before him.

_ I’m your family, and you’re mine, more than you know...you have no idea what you’re giving up. _

“That’s impossible,” he said through numb lips.

The tall Wildling bristled and seemed to grow even taller. “Y’callin’ her a liar, then?”

“N-no, I just...she wasn’t...she never told me…” Theon’s legs were going hollow. The third Wildling still held out the wrapped baby but Theon couldn’t bring himself to take it. There was a sudden movement - Mya was taking the child and cradling it, rocking lightly. She came up to the Wildling’s ribcage, but she didn’t seem to be giving him a second thought. “It’s mine?”

“It’s yours,” the old Wildling said. “She didn’t even tell us till her time came on her. We kept askin’ and askin’ but she kept it quiet till she had to tell us.”

“Where is she?” In the corner the baby, _his son_ , was making little noises, and Mya was trying to quiet him. It didn’t seem to matter to her that her home was filled with Wildlings that would slit her throat at the slightest inclination. “Where’s Ygritte?”

“She’s where she belongs,” the old Wildling said. “Took her three days to have that boy. By then the fever had set in. She lived another day and another night. Died this morning.”

Theon’s legs finally gave out, and he sat heavily in his kitchen chair. “Dead?”

The old Wildling nodded once. “Dead. By your seed. Last thing she wanted was for us to bring ‘im to you. By rights we should’ve kept him, raised him right, but it’s what she wanted.”

His tongue felt like it was detached from his mouth. It lay in his mouth like an old slab of meat. He couldn't have spoken if he wanted to. Fortunately, Mya could. “What’s his name?”

The third Wildling snorted derisively. “Don’t be stupid. Y’don’t name a child before its second year. ‘s a curse otherwise.”

Dimly Theon could see Mya’s cheeks redden. He wanted to stand up, to defend her, to push these men out of his house but he seemed to be made of stone. _Ygritte...dead_. It couldn’t be true, but at the same time Theon knew it was. She would never give away her own child unless she was dying.

“He’s hungry,” Mya was saying. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off the baby. Something in Theon’s chest twisted looking at her. She couldn’t seriously be thinking of raising a baby that wasn’t her own, could she? You were willing to raise her son.

“We didn’t bring a wet nurse with us, girl,” the tall Wildling growled. “There’s a goat on your porch for ‘im to suckle on. Midwife insisted on it when she found out we was takin’ him. He’s not like to get anything out of you, is he.”

“What’re you going to do, Greyjoy?” The old Wildling spoke. Hearing his name forced Theon out of his daze. “Y’gonna take your son, or are we?”

“I am.” He replied automatically. He hadn’t even seen the boy’s face but Theon knew to give away his own flesh and blood would be a greater sin than even he could bear. He didn’t know how he and Mya would manage, what he would tell the Starks, but he knew he wasn’t about to turn his back on his son. His eyes met Mya’s across the room, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. “We are.”

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you. That boy’s as much Wildling as he is Southerner,” the old Wildling said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be shot on sight if you so much as peek over those mountains,” Theon retorted. The three Wildlings looked at each other, smirking.

“We did more than peek over them today, boy. No one laid a finger on us. You think we need our own eyes to see you?” The tall Wildling said. He laughed once, more of a humorless bark.

“We’ll leave ye now,” the old Wildling said. “You didn’t do right by my girl. You do right by your boy. If you don’t we’ll know. And you’ll pay for it.” He straightened. “Toregg. Torwynd.”

The two younger Wildlings strode across the cabin and left, the tall one having to duck. The old man lingered and for the first time Theon saw the pain in his eyes.

“You take care of that boy,” he said. His voice was quieter now, sadder. “You take good care of ‘im.”

Theon swallowed hard. He couldn’t understand why the tears welling in the old man’s eyes would make his vision blur. “I will. You have my word.”

The old man pulled off a thick glove and brushed his hand across the baby’s head one last time, then turned abruptly to go. “Don’t forget your goat.” He pulled the door open and just like that, vanished into the wintry night.

For a long moment the cabin was quiet. Theon stared at Mya, and she stared right back. Finally, at her feet, Jenny leapt on Duncan and resumed biting his ear. That seemed to break some of the tension, and Mya laughed. It was a high-pitched, nervous thing. Theon couldn’t blame her.

“I...don’t know what to say,” he said.

She shook her head, adjusting the bundle in her arms. “I don’t know what there is _to_ say. Come over here though. See your boy.”

Crossing the cabin seemed to take years, but the second Theon laid eyes on the baby he knew it was his. He had the same pale, translucent skin Ygritte had. The faint fuzz covering his head had a distinct curl to it, but it was as black as Theon’s. He was sleeping, his rosebud mouth puckered slightly. He seemed impossibly small, like a doll that Sansa would’ve played with.

It was surreal. Just a few months ago he had been nauseated at the thought of his children. _That’s different. Any child created with Ellie would’ve been created out of duty and resented right from the start. You made this boy with someone you loved._

The baby was sucking on Mya’s pinkie finger, eyes drooping into sleep. Theon was afraid to touch him. “What do we do with him?”

Mya smiled. It pierced through Theon like the sun coming over the horizon, warmed him to his core. “Feed him. Name him. Raise him. He’ll be ours, Theon. Our boy.”

“Our boy.” Theon wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They’d figure everything out soon enough. Tonight, though, was just for them. “Our boy.”

~


End file.
